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THE 



POETICAL REMAINS 



OF THE LATE 



DR. JOHN LEYDEN, 



WITH 



MEMOIRS OF HIS LIFE, 



BY 



The Rev. JAMES MORTON. 

> 



LONDON: 

Printed by Strahan and Spottiswoode, Printers- Street, 
FOR LONGMAN, HURST, REES, ORME, AND BROWN; 

AND A. CONSTABLE AND CO- EDINBURGH. 

1819. 

r 



fT\ A 



CONTENTS. 



The Life of the Author Page 1 

Ode to Phantasy. Written in 1796 1 

On parting with a Friend on a Journey. Written in 1797. 12 

On an Old Man dying Friendless. Written in 1798 13 

Writtenat St. Andrew's, in 1798 14? 

To Ruin. Written in 1798 15 

Melancholy. Written in 1798 16 

To the Yew. Written in 1799 17 

Ode, addressed to Mr. Geo. Dyer, on Scottish Scenery and 

Manners. Written in 1799 18 

Love. Written in 1800 22 

Written in the Isle of-Sky, in 1800 23 

To the setting Sun. Written in the Isle of Iona, in 1800. 24? 

Serenity of Childhood 25 

The Memory of the Past 26 

Macgregor. Written in Glenorchy, near the Scene of the 

Massacre of the Macgregors 27 

A 3 



VI 



The Elfin King Page 29 

Scottish Music, an Ode 40 

Ode on visiting Flodden 46 

Lord Soulis 52 

The Cout of Keeldar 73 

The Mermaid 91 

On the Sabbath Morning 114 

Ode, to the Scenes of Infancy. Written in 1801 115 

Spring, an Ode. Written while recovering from Sickness 

120 

Ode to the Evening Star 124 

Greenland Elegy. A Father on the Death of his Son.. 126 

The Wail of Alzira. A Negro Song 128 

Epistle to a Lady, from a Dancing Bear. Sent to Lady 

, after dancing with her in 1801 130 

The Fan. Addressed to a Lady in 1802 136 

Headach. To a Lady. Written in 1802 138 

To Aurelia. Written in 1802 140 

Sonnet. Written at Woodhouselee in 1802 141 

Elegy on a Friend killed in the West Indies 142 

Dirge on a young Boy 146 

The Celtic Paradise, or Green Isle of the Western Waves 

147 

A Love Tale. A Fragment 152 

Song of a Telinga Dancing Girl. Addressed to an European 

Gentleman, in the Company of some European Ladies? 

in 1803 „ 155 



Vll 



The Battle of Assaye. Written in 1803 Page 156 

Ode on Leaving Velore. Written in 1804 159 

Ode to an Indian Gold Cojn. Written in Clerical, Malabar. 

163 
Address to my Malay Krees. Written while pursued by a 

French Privateer off Sumatra 166 

Christmas in Penang. Written in 1804 168 

Dirge of the departed Year. To Olivia. Written in 18o6. 

170 
Verses written at the Island of Sagur, in the Mouth of the 

Ganges, in 1807 174 

Verses on the death of Nelson 177 

To Mr. James Purvis 180 

Ode on the Battle of Corunna. Written in 1809 183 

Portugueze Hymn. To the Virgin Mary, « The Star of the 

Sea." Written at Sea, on board the Ship Santo Antonio 

188 
Finland Song. Addressed by a Mother to her Child 192 
Elegiac Ode at the return of the Parentalia, or Feast of the 

Dead. Imitated from Ausonius 193 

The Saul Tree. From Bayer's Latin version of the Chinese 

196 

From Owen's Latin Epigrams 197 

Epitaph, from the Latin 198 

The Dream, from the Latin of J. Leoch. Addressed to 

DrummondofHawthornden 199 

The Cretan Warrior, from Hybrids Cretensis 205 



VI11 



Ode to Virtue, imitated from the Greek of Aristotle (Written 
on the death of General Frazer, killed at the Battle of 

Deeg) Page 206 

On seeing an Eagle perched on the tombstone of Aristomenes, 

the Palafox of Messen^ 208 

To a Young Lady. From the Greek of Ibycus 209 

From Mnesimachus. Speech of one the ancient Grecian 

Bobadils \ 210 

From Tyrtaeus 211 

Ditto 214? 

On the Death of Marsyas, the Phrygian Poet, who is said to 
have been flayed alive by Apollo, after a fruitless contest 
with his flute against the lyre of the God. From the 

Greek 218 

Madagascar Song. From Parny's Chansons Madecasses 221 

From the Italian of Tasso 223 

From the Italian of Menzini ; 224< 

Dirge on Guillen Peraza, Governor of the Canaries, who fell 
in attempting the conquest of the Island Palma, soon after 

the year 1418. From the Spanish 225 

To Camoens. From the Portugueze of Be Matos 227 

Sonnet, from the Same 228 

Ode to Jehovah. From the Hebrew of Moses 229 

The Monody of Tograi. From the Arabic 233 

To the Courier Dove. From the Arabic 240 

On a Negro marrying an Arab Woman. From the Arabic 
of Nabega 241 



IX 



The Arab Warrior. From the Arabic Page 242 

From the Arabic of Tabat Shirrar, on revenging the blood 

of his uncle, who had been murdered by the Chief of the 

Tribe of Huddeil 244 

Timur's War Song. From the Persic of Ali Yezdi 248 

Ode. From the Persic of Kliakeni 249 

Ode. From the Persic of Hafez 251 

From the Persian of Hatefi 253 

Sonnet. Imitated from the Persic of Sadi 254 

The Renunciation of Poetry. From the Persic of Antvari 

255 

On Spring. From the Persic of Rashzd 257 

From the Persic ofRudeki 259 

The Return after Absence. From the same 261 

On Mahmud's War-steed. From the Persic of Unsari 263 

Impromptu, on Mahmud's cutting off the tresses of his 

Mistress Ayaz, one day in a passion. From the same 265 

To Night. From the same 266 

In ridicule of Astrology. From the Persic of Catebi 267 

Lament for Rama. From the Bengali 268 

Verses written after being at Sea for the first time, by Emir 

Muhammed Peishaweri, an Affghan. From the Pushto 

270 
The Fight of Praya. A Malay Dirge 274? 

The Dirge of Tippoo Sultan. From the Canara 277 

On the death of Tippoo Sultan. From the Hindustani 286 

Scenes of Infancy 295 



MEMOIRS 



OF 



DR. LEYDEN. 



Dr. John Leyden, the subject of the following 
short Memoir, was born on the 8th day of Sep- 
tember, 1775, at Denholm, a village on the 
banks of the Teviot, in the parish of Cavers, 
and county of Roxburgh. He was the eldest 
child of John and Isabella Leyden, who had, 
besides him, three sons and two daughters. The 
maiden name of his mother was Scott. The fore- 
fathers of both his parents had, for several gene- 
rations, been farmers on the estates of the ancient 
family of Douglas of Cavers. 

About a year after his birth his parents re- 
moved to Henlawshiel, a lonely cottage, about 
three miles from Denholm, on the farm of Nether 



11 

Tofts, which was then held by Mr. Andrew 
Blythe, his mother's uncle. Here they lived 
for sixteen years, during which his father was 
employed, first as shepherd, and afterwards in 
managing the whole business of the farm ; * his 
relation having had the misfortune to lose his 
sight. The cottage, which was of very simple 
construction, was situated in a wild pastoral 
spot, near the foot of Ruberslaw, on the verge 
of the heath which stretches down from the sides 
of that majestic hill. The simplicity of the in- 
terior corresponded with that of its outward 
appearance. But the kind affections, cheerful 
content, intelligence, and piety that dwelt be- 
neath its lowly roof, made it such a scene as 
poets have imagined in their descriptions of the 
innocence and happiness of rural life. 

Leyden was taught to read by his grand- 
mother, who, after her husband's death, re- 
sided in the family of her son. Under the care 
of this venerable and affectionate instructress his 
progress was rapid. That insatiable desire of 
knowledge, which afterwards formed so remark- 
able a feature in his character, soon began to 
shew itself. The historical passages of the Bible 

* See Note [A.] 



Ill 

first caught his attention ; and it was not long 
before he made himself familiarly acquainted 
with every event recorded in the Old and New 
Testaments. One or two popular works on 
Scottish history next fell into his hands ; and he 
read with enthusiasm the history of the heroic 
deeds of Wallace and Bruce, and of the brave 
resistance of his countrymen to the ecclesiastical 
tyranny of the last kings of the house of Stuart. 
After he had read all the books in his father's 
possession, the shelves of the neighbouring pea- 
sants were laid under contribution, and, amongst 
other works which thev furnished him with, he 
was greatly delighted to find the Arabian Nights 
Entertainments, Sir David Lindsay's Poetical 
Works, Milton's Paradise Lost, and Chapman's 
Translation of Homer. 

At nine years of age he was sent to the parish 
school of Kirktown, about two miles from Hen- 
lawshiel. He continued at this school nearly 
three years, learning writing and arithmetic, 
and the rudiments of Latin grammar ; but his 
progress during this period was interrupted by 
two very long vacations, occasioned by the death 
of one, and the removal of another schoolmaster, 

a 2 



IV 

to a more eligible situation. * During these 
intervals he often assisted his father in tending 
his flock, and sometimes supplied his place when 
occasion called him away. 

His parents had too much discernment not to 
perceive that their son was gifted by nature with 
extraordinary talents, and rightly appreciating 
this valuable distinction, they strove to pro- 
cure him the best means of improvement in 
their power. They therefore placed him at 
Denholm, under the tuition of the Rev. James 
Duncan, Pastor of a congregation of Camero- 
nians, a religious sect professing the faith of the 
Church* of Scotland, but refusing to acknow- 
ledge the legitimacy of a Sovereign who has not 
subscribed the Solemn League and Covenant. 
This worthy Minister, who in more respects 
than one resembles the Clergyman in Goldsmith's 
Deserted Village, had a very limited number of 
pupils, — seldom more than six or seven — 
whom he taught Latin and Greek. 

* His first master was Mr. Thomas Wilson, whose sue. 
icessor was Mr. Walter Scott, who, upon his removal, was 
succeeded by Mr. Andrew Scott. 



Leyden applied himself to his new studies 
with invincible ardour and unwearied diligence. 
The delight and admiration which he had felt 
from reading the translation of Homer, made 
him look forward with keen anticipation to the 
stores of ancient literature, which were as yet 
beyond his reach. Of the eagerness of his de- 
sire for knowledge it may not be improper to 
relate an anecdote which took place at this time. 
Denholm being about three miles from his home, 
which was rather too long a walk, his father was 
going to buy him an ass to convey him to and 
from school. Leyden, however, was unwilling, 
from the common prejudice against this animal, 
to encounter the ridicule of his school-fellows 
by appearing so ignobly mounted, and would at 
first have declined the offered accommodation. 
But no sooner was he informed that the owner 
of the ass happened to have in his possession a 
large book in some learned language, which he 
offered to give into the bargain, than his re- 
luctance entirely vanished, and he never rested 
until he had obtained this literary treasure, which 
was found to be Cakpini Dictionarium Octolingue. 

After he had enjoyed the benefit of Mr. Dun- 
can's instructions above two years, he was 
a 3 



VI 

thought sufficiently qualified to go to the Uni- 
versity of Edinburgh, to which his father now 
resolved to send him, that he might prepare 
himself by the usual course of study for the 
clerical profession, which was the object of his 
earliest ambition. In the month of November, 
1790, he arrived at Edinburgh, which is a long 
day's journey from his home. His father con- 
ducted him half way with a horse which they 
rode alternately, and then left him to pursue 
the rest of his journey on foot. * 

According to the rules prescribed for students 
intended for the Scottish Church, his first winter 
at college was devoted entirely to the study of 
Greek and Latin. His hours of private study 
were arranged upon a regular plan from which, 
for several years, he seldom departed ; a certain 
portion of time being allotted to preparation for 
each class, or lecture ; but the greater part of 
his time was employed in desultory and general 
reading, improving with eagerness the oppor- 
tunities which the College Library, the Circu- 
lating Libraries, and the private collections of 
his friends now afforded him. 

* See note [B.] 



vu 

It may easily be supposed that with such ta- 
lents and application he could not fail of being 
distinguished as a scholar. The very first time 
that he stood up to be examined in the Greek 
class, he acquitted himself in such a manner as 
called forth the warmest applause from Pro- 
fessor Dalzel. This approbation was the more 
judiciously bestowed by the Professor, and was 
the more grateful to Leyden, as at first his 
rustic appearance, and strong Teviotdale accent 
excited a laugh among some of the other stu- 
dents ; — as often happens when a student from 
the country, with bashful countenance, home- 
spun coat, and still more homely speech, makes 
his first appearance in the College of King 
James the Sixth. 

In the month of May, when the classes broke 
up, he returned home to Henlawshiel. The 
scene of his studies in fine weather, during this 
summer, was in a pastoral glen, about a furlong 
from his father's cottage. Here, about half 
way up the bank, he had formed a rude sort of 
bower, partly scooped out of the earth, and 
covered with fern and rushes. A mountain 
rivulet, which, after dashing over a precipice at 
the head of the glen, runs in mazy windings 

a 4 



Vlll 

through scenes of wild grandeur till it reaches 
the Teviot, flowed beneath. This retreat af- 
forded him that quiet so necessary to his studies, 
and which could not so easily be found with- 
in the well-peopled cottage. Here also he 
had before his eyes some of those striking scenes 
and appearances of nature, which from his earli- 
est years he delighted to observe, and which he 
has delineated with so much feeling and truth 
in his Scenes of Infancy. 

In the ensuing November he again repaired 
to Edinburgh, and began to study Mathematics 
and Logic, under Professors Playfair and Fin- 
layson, continuing at the same time to attend 
the Greek and Latin classes. The summer fol- 
lowing he was employed as assistant in a school at 
Cloven Ford, a small village on the banks of the 
Cadan, a rapid stream which falls into the Tweed, 
a little above the Yair. Here he became ac- 
quainted with Nicol the Poet, with whom he be- 
gan a poetical correspondence in the Scottish 
dialect, which he soon abandoned. 

In the winter of 1792-3, he attended the 
Lectures on Moral Philosophy, Natural Philo- 
sophy, Rhetoric, and Natural History. Ac- 



IX 

tuated by an eager desire of knowledge, he 
pursued with diligence and success everjibranch 
of learning to which he applied himself, yet it 
does not appear that the course of his acade- 
mical studies was marked with any strong pre- 
dilection. Of the Professors under whom he 
studied, he obtained the particular notice only 
of Dalzel and Finlayson. To them he was in- 
debted for employment in assisting the studies 
of others, while he was promoting his own. 

The following summer, 1 793, he lived chiefly 
at Nether Tofts, with his venerable relation 
Andrew Blythe. This good old man was 
warmly attached to him, and at an earlier pe- 
riod had often fed his youthful fancy, by re- 
citing to him tales and ballads founded on po- 
pular superstitions, and on the daring exploits of 
Border Chieftains and Warriors, which, in his 
own youth, had been the frequent amusement 
of the farmer's fire-side in winter nights. 

Upon his return to College, at the end of the 
vacation, he began to attend the course of Lec- 
tures on Divinity and Church History, given by 
Professors Hunter and Hardie. Every student 
must attend these Lectures four years before lie 



can be a candidate for the ministerial office in 
the Scottish Church. In that period he must 
also write a certain number of Discourses upon 
subjects proposed by the Professors, to be read 
publicly in the class. At that time the stu- 
dents were allowed to make remarks upon each 
other's compositions, after which the Professor 
delivered his own sentiments, both with regard 
to the Discourses, and the criticisms to which 
they had been subjected. Upon these occasions 
Leyden did not fail to distinguish himself, and 
soon gained the reputation of a very able critic. 

Before this, he had taken much pains to ac- 
custom himself to speak in public extempore, an 
accomplishment the more valuable to the clergy 
of Scotland, because their duty often calls them 
to assist at the meetings of the presbyteries and 
provincial synods, or of the general assembly of 
the church. With this view, he had, at an early 
period of his academic studies, joined a society 
which met once a week in one of the rooms of 
the college, for improvement in literary compo- 
sition and public speaking. The name by which 
it was distinguished was the Literary Society, 
and in the small number of its members it had 
the honour of comprehending the most eminent 



XI 

ofhis contemporary'students. In it he became ac- 
quainted with Mr. Brougham, and the late much 
lamented Mr. Horner, and formed a friendship 
of peculiar intimacy with Mr. William Erskine, 
now of Bombay, and Dr. Thomas Brown, now 
Professor of Moral Philosophy in the University 
of Edinburgh. Amongst the other distinguished 
members may be enumerated James Reddie, Esq. 
Advocate ; the Rev. Robert Lundie, Minister of 
Kelso j the Rev. William Gillespie, Minister of 
Kells ; and the Rev. Dr. Logan, Minister of 
Chirnside, a friend whom Leyden highly valued. 

Ley den's first attempts to speak in the society 
were very unsuccessful, and more than once pro- 
cured him the mortification of being laughed at 
by his associates. But his perseverance was not 
to be overcome. The resolute and manly spirit 
which supported him, on this and every similar 
occasion, may be understood from what he said 
to one of his friends, a person of great abilities 
and learning, who belonged to the same society, 
but who, from an excess of modesty, had never 
attempted to make a speech. " I see what will 
happen," said Leyden to him one day, after hav- 
ing in vain exhorted him to overcome his timi- 
dity,—" I shall, through constant practice, at 



Xll 

last be able to harangue, whilst you, through 
dread of the ridicule of a few boys, will let slip 
the opportunity of learning this art, and will 
continue the same diffident man through life." 
His words were verified, as far at least as re- 
garded himself, for by the time when he entered 
upon his theological studies, he was able to 
speak in public with ease and fluency. 

Some time afterwards, a society was instituted 
by the most distinguished members of the Lite- 
rary Society, upon a more comprehensive plan, 
under the name of the Academy of Physics, 
which was dissolved by the dispersion of the 
members, after it had existed two years. To 
this institution belonged Ley den, Dr. Thomas 
Brown, J. A. Murray, Esq. Advocate, Francis 
Jeflery, Esq. Advocate, the Rev. Sidney Smith, 
and several other young men of distinguished 
abilities. The practice of writing abstracts of 
new works of science, corresponded with the 
plan of the Edinburgh Review, established about 
this time, and to which the members of this so- 
ciety were among the earliest contributors. 

Ley den passed the summer of 1794, and the 
following year in the country with his parents, 



Xlll 

who now resided at Cavers, a small village be- 
side which the parish church is situated, and 
near it the mansion of the ancient family of 
Douglas of Cavers. Here, his father's cottage 
not affording him sufficient retirement, he stu- 
died during week days in the church, a gloomy 
old building, nearly surrounded with a thick 
grove of lofty beeches and elms, which inclose 
the church-yard and darken it with their shade. 
Some of the neighbouring rustics, who regarded 
the church with superstitious awe, and firmly 
believed it to be haunted, formed strange sur- 
mises about the nature of his pursuits. Among 
other superstitious notions, the relics of former 
times, entertained by the more simple in that 
part of the country, was the belief that the 
occult sciences were privately studied at Oxford. 
This opinion was so prevalent, that the term 
" Oxford scholar" was synonymous with " one 
skilled in magic or the black art." It was also 
naturally imagined that the same mysterious 
knowledge might be acquired at Edinburgh, by 
those hardy enough to seek it. When, there- 
fore, it was understood that Leyden resorted 
daily to this abode of terror, and remained there 
alone from morning to the hour of twilight, stu- 
dying books written in strange characters, it was 



XIV 

no wonder that he began to be suspected of be- 
ing versed in the unhallowed learning of the 
South. This evil report, however, did him good 
rather than harm. The ludicrous awe with 
which it caused him to be regarded, amused 
him, while it prevented his solitude from being 
disturbed by idlers. 

At this time he was kindly allowed admittance, 
during certain hours in the morning, to the li- 
brary at Cavers House, where he found many 
valuable works in old English and foreign litera- 
ture, which had been collected by the Douglas 
family in the course of several generations. 

He had now made considerable progress in 
the Hebrew and Arabic languages, and his 
mind had taken that bent towards Eastern 
learning, which, with his love of poetry, were 
the most striking features of his literary cha- 
racter. The writer of this memoir remembers 
having seen him at this time, write a letter in 
Hebrew to one of his college friends. It was 
his custom, every evening, when he left his 
study in the church, to bring his Hebrew Bible 
with him under his arm; and, during family 
worship, when his father read a chapter in the 



XV 

English translation, he kept his eye upon the 
original text. 

Whoever has read Burns's beautiful poem, 
" The Cotter's Saturday Night," knows, that in 
the family devotions of the Scotch, they first 
sing together a portion of a Psalm, after which 
the head of the family reads a chapter of the 
Bible, and then concludes with offering up a 
comprehensive prayer, Leyden, being now a 
student of Theology, often performed the last 
part of this sacred duty instead of his father, 
and his pious effusions were remarkable for 
their richness in scriptural expressions, and for 
the chaste fervour with which they were ut- 
tered. 

In the winter of 1794-5, he formed an ac- 
quaintance, which was soon improved into a 
cordial intimacy and friendship, with Dr. Ro- 
bert Anderson, who was then employed in 
editing his well known and valuable collection 
of the works of the British Poets, and who was 
also the reputed editor of the Edinburgh Lite- 
rary Magazine. Leyden availed himself of this 
Miscellany, to publish some of his juvenile at- 
tempts at poetry, having first submitted them 



XVI 



to the judgment and advice of his intelligent 
and excellent friend, who, from the first justly 
appreciated his talents, and encouraged his ef- 
forts. The earliest specimen of his poetry which 
met the public eye, was " An elegy on the 
Death of a Sister ;" printed in the Magazine 
for April, 1795. During the summer, he wrote 
his picturesque verses, inscribed " Kuberslaw, ,, 
in which he gave vent to the feelings and fan- 
cies with which his mind was early impressed 
by the wild and romantic scenery which first 
met his view, and which he afterwards, with 
the same enthusiasm, more fully delineated in 
his " Scenes of Infancy." It was printed in the 
Magazine for September, along with the second 
part of " the Descent of Odin," from the Norse 
tongue, omitted by Gray, when he translated 
the former part. These, and many other pieces 
which he contributed to the same publication, 
were distinguished by the signature " J. L. 
Banks of the Teviot." 

His long-continued friendship with Dr. An- 
derson, introduced him to the acquaintance of 
other distinguished literary persons whom he 
frequently met with at his house. Among these 
was Dr. Alexander Murray, who was afterwards 
raised to the Professorship of Hebrew in the 



XV11 

University of Edinburgh, and has since been 
cut off by an early death, after he had lived to 
express in language equally tender and elevated, 
his grief for the death of his friend.* This emi- 
nent scholar was likewise born of humble pa- 
rents, and had far greater difficulties to struggle 
with than Leyden, — difficulties which, were 
they fully disclosed, could not fail to increase 
the lustre of his name. They were both de- 
voted to Philological pursuits, and entered keenly 
together upon the study of the Eastern tongues. 
Murray once observed to Dr. Anderson that there 
was nobody in Edinburgh whom he should be so 
much afraid to contend with in languages and 
philology as Leyden ; and it is remarkable that 
the latter, without knowing this, once expressed 
himself to the same person, in the same terms, 
in commendation of Murray's learning. 

The summer of 1795 was the last which he 
spent entirely in the country with his parents. 
Upon his return to Edinburgh in winter, whilst 
he continued his Theological studies, he was in- 
duced to devote some of his hours to the instruc- 
tion, in private, of a few pupils ; and the same 

* See Note [C] 
b 



XV111 

employment detained him there next summer. 
Upon the recommendation of Professor Dalzel, 
he soon after undertook the office of tutor to 
the sons of Mr. Campbell of Fairfield, in whose 
family he continued about three years. The 
pecuniary fruits of this employment of his time 
and abilities were devoted to his farther im- 
provement. He now began to attend the Lec- 
tures on Medicine in the University, and la- 
boured to acquire a knowledge of that profes- 
sion to which he looked forward as a resource 
if he should fail of obtaining preferment in the 
church. 

In the winter of 1797*8 he accompanied 
two of his pupils to the University of St. 
Andrews, where he cultivated the acquaint- 
ance and friendship of Professor Hunter, well 
known for his classical erudition, and no less 
estimable for the private worth and urbanity of 
his character. 

As he had gone through the regular course of 
theological studies, and had undergone part 
of his trials as a candidate for the clerical office 
before the Presbytery of Edinburgh, he was now 
transferred to the Presbytery of St. Andrews, 



XIX 



by whom, after due trial and examination, he 
was approved, and in May, 1798, licensed to 
preach. He soon after returned to Edinburgh, 
and from this time frequently appeared in the 
pulpit in different churches of that city and its 
vicinity. His manner of delivery was not grace- 
ful, and the tones of his voice, when extended 
so as to be heard by a large audience, were harsh 
and discordant. He was not, therefore, remark- 
ably successful as a preacher, yet by the judici- 
ous his discourses were justly prized for the im- 
pressive vigour of their style, the originality and 
beauty of the illustrations which arrested and 
fixed the attention, and for the sound and 
rational piety which they breathed. The fol- 
lowing extract from one of his sermons may 
serve as a specimen. The text is Galatians, 
chap. iv. ver. 18. " But it is good to be zeal- 
ously affected always in a good thing." — 
" There is another species of zeal where vanity 
deforms the religious affections. This zeal is 
ostentatiously forward and obtrusive, and only 
lives in the admiration of the vulgar. Before it 
flames forth vehemently, it requires to be puffed 
up by the breath of popular applause. It glim- 
mers with a false and deceitful light, and like 
the hovering fire of the marsh, shines only to 

b 2 



XX 



bewilder and mislead the ignorant and the 
weak. Dependent entirely on popular opinion, 
it is more extravagant in its effects than that zeal 
which proceeds from constitutional warmth. It 
manifests itself by a servile fawning spirit that 
crouches to all the little arts that can attract the 
vulgar, — to the despicable tricks of religious 
quackery, and the meanness of personal abuse. 
It will adopt the pride of humility, and seems to 
say with the hypocritical Jehu, * Come and see 
my zeal for the Lord.' Jehu, a man of great 
ability and energy of character, lived in Israel 
when the kingdom flourished. The Lord raised 
him to the throne, and ordered him to extirpate 
the Royal family, and exterminate the worship 
of Baal. As this order coincided with his am- 
bitious spirit, he performed it with faithfulness 
and alacrky. To one of the nobles of Israel, 
whose support and favour he wished to acquire, 
he cried, i come and see my zeal for the Lord.' 
But history likewise records, that when his pride 
w r as gratified, and he was settled firmly on the 
throne, Jehu took no heed to walk in the ways 
of the Lord God of Israel, with all his heart, 
for he departed not from the sins of Jeroboam, 
who made Israel to sin. — When we observe zeal 
assuming, a threatening aspect, and a menacing 



XXI 

tone, when we observe her fierce against per- 
sons instead of errors, and fomenting dissen- 
tions in the name of the Lord, then we are al- 
ways to suspect the interference of pride. True 
religion is the enemy of violence and discord. 
Our Lord when he prayed for his murderers, 
taught us how his cause is to be avenged. Con- 
found not, I beseech you, my friends, the cause 
of religion with its professors, nor impute the 
enormities of human passion to the wisdom 
which is from above. The records of religion 
are deposited in your hands ; if you find there 
the traces of blood, except the blood of her dis- 
ciples shed for the truth, with injustice shall I 
assert her gentleness and charity. But there 
you shall only behold affections of kindness and 
love, acts of sublime benevolence, and examples 
of patience, mildness, and mercy." 

About this time the celebrity of Mungo Park's 
Travels in Africa, which had recently been pub- 
lished, suggested to Leyden the idea of collect- 
ing all the information that had ever been made 
public respecting that quarter of the globe, so 
little known to Europeans. He immediately 
set about the execution of this design, and soon 
afterwards published the result of his enquiries 
b 3 



' XX11 

in a very interesting 12mo volume of about 400 
pages, entitled, " A Historical and Philosophical 
Sketch of the Discoveries and Settlements of the 
Europeans in Northern and Western Africa, at 
the close of the eighteenth century." This work 
he afterwards undertook to enlarge into four 
volumes octavo, and had proceeded so far in it 
that 176 pages were printed when the under- 
taking was broken through by his departure for 
India. The design has lately been partly carried 
into effect by one of his friends, Mr. Hugh 
Murray, who, with an ability and diligence of 
research not unworthy of his predecessor, has 
extended it to two octavo volumes, in which he 
has incorporated both Leyden's original work 
and his unpublished fragment. 

His extraordinary talents and acquirements 
began now to be very generally known, and pro- 
cured him the regard of some of the most dis- 
tinguished persons in the Scottish Metropolis, 
and an introduction into the first circles of so- 
ciety, in a city, in which, perhaps more than in 
any other, literary merit is the highest claim to 
distinction. He was honoured, in particular, 
with the friendship of the Duchess of Gordon, 
Lady Charlotte Campbell, and Miss Graham of 



XX111 

Gartmore, not more distinguished for rank and 
fashion, than for their taste and understanding. 
He delighted in their society and conversation, 
and notwithstanding the repulsive sharpness of 
his native accent, and upon most occasions, his 
almost studied neglect of fashionable manners, 
made himself highly agreeable to them. 

In the autumn of 1799, Richard Heber, Esq, 
of Brazen-Nose College, Oxford, well known as 
a scholar and antiquary, came to Edinburgh and 
continued during the winter, attracted by the 
society he found there, and the occupation of 
investigating the history of Ancient Scottish 
Literature. Leyden was introduced to him by 
their common friend Dr. Anderson, and was 
happy to assist him in reading the compositions 
of the old Scottish Poets. Their acquaintance 
was soon improved into a mutual friendship, 
which had a considerable influence on Leyden's 
literary pursuits and rising fame. 

About this time Mr. Constable of Edinburgh 
had formed the design of re-printing the " Com- 
playnt of Scotland," an ancient and very scarce 
political tract, in the Scottish language, the 
work of an anonymous author, which was first 
b 4 



XXIV 



published in the year 1548. By the recommen- 
dation of Mr. Heber and Dr. Anderson, Leyden 
became the editor of this work, which he has 
enriched with a glossary and a preliminary dis- 
sertation of 280 pages octavo, in which he has 
illustrated, with wonderful acuteness and dili- 
gence, various points of Scottish Antiquity. He 
had engaged to write only a short preface, but 
found the subject so interesting, that he could 
hardly be prevailed on to stop, and would have 
added " An Examination of the Style of the 
Complaynt," and an Essay on the Scottish Lan- 
guage, had not the fixed price of the volume for- 
bidden him to swell it to a larger size. The 
edition was limited to 150 copies, and was pub- 
lished in the year 1801. 

To Mr. Heber he owed his introduction to the 
Rev. Sidney Smith, Mr. Walter Scott, and other 
distinguished literary characters. Mr. Scott had 
not then given to the public any of those justly 
celebrated works by which he has since acquired 
an imperishable name. He had at that time 
collected a considerable portion of the materials 
of the "Ministrelsy of the Scottish Border ;" 
which he communicated to Leyden, with a wish 
for his co-operation and assistance in the work. 



XXV 

He embraced with zeal a proposal which was 
connected with the favourite associations of his 
early years, and proved himself an able and ac- 
tive assistant, both in collecting the traditionary 
ballads of the Border from oral recitation, and 
in illustrating the local antiquities and popular 
superstitions of his native country. The Dis- 
sertation on Fairy superstition, in particular, in 
the second volume, is known to have been writ- 
ten by him, but somewhat altered and improved 
by the editor, with his consent. He was the au- 
thor also of two odes, and three legendary poems, 
of extraordinary merit, in the same collection. 
The work was published in 1801, in two vo- 
lumes, octavo. A supplementary volume was 
afterwards added. 

In June, 1800, he paid a visit to his parents, 
on hearing that his father, who had long been 
subject to a severe bilious disorder, was dan- 
gerously ill. Having persuaded him to drink 
the salubrious waters of Gilsland, a village on 
the borders of Cumberland, he accompanied 
him thither himself, and had the satisfaction of 
seeing him restored to perfect health, in the 
short space of a fortnight. In the mean time 



XXVI 

he made an excursion to the lakes and magni- 
ficent scenery in the neighbourhood. He like- 
wise availed himself of the opportunity which 
this journey afforded, of collecting the gleanings 
of the historical and romantic ballads of the 
Border ; and of surveying the scenes which they 
describe, with a view to illustrate the local 
allusions. 

Very soon after this he set out on another 
tour, in company with two young foreigners, 
natives of Germany, travelling in Scotland for 
improvement, to whom he had been recom- 
mended as a companion, whose talents and ac- 
quirements might prompt their curiosity, and 
assist their enquiries. They left Edinburgh in 
the beginning of July, and after visiting the most 
interesting parts of the Highlands and Western 
Isles, they returned by the way of Aberdeen, 
along the eastern coast, in the end of Sep- 
tember. In this journey he availed himself of 
every opportunity to collect information with 
regard to the Gaelic poetry and traditions ; and 
was particularly solicitous to learn every thing 
which might throw light upon the disputed au- 
thenticity of the poems of Ossian, of which he 



XXV11 

had long been an admirer. He wrote an account 
of his excursion and researches, which he once 
intended to publish, but changed his mind. 

In 1802 he was employed in conducting the 
Scots Magazine, of which a third series was 
then begun, upon a plan corresponding to the 
original series, as an authentic record of the 
literature and domestic history of Scotland. It 
was conducted with great ability, and contained 
many excellent papers by Leyden, and his friend 
Dr. Murray, to whom, after six months, he re- 
signed the editorship, that he might devote him- 
self entirely to other pursuits, which then re- 
quired all his attention. 

He was also the editor of a small volume, 
which was published the same year, under the 
title of " Scottish Descriptive Poems," contain- 
ing, besides one or two short pieces, " Wilson's 
Clyde," and " Albania," both of which had 
become very scarce, and were little known, 
though possessed of sufficient merit, in his opi- 
nion, and that of other good judges of poetry, 
to entitle them to preservation from oblivion. 
Of Albania, only one copy was known to exist ; 
which he obtained through the kindness of Pro- 

6 



XXVI11 



fessor Glennie, of Aberdeen, who prevailed upon 
his relation, the venerable Dr. Beattie, to whom 
it belonged, to lend it for the use of the new 
edition. It is written in blank verse, and in 
praise of Scotland. The author, whose name 
and history are unknown, appears to have lived 
about the beginning of the eighteenth century. 
Clyde was printed from a manuscript copy, in 
the author's hand-writing, in the possession of 
his daughter, compared with a printed copy be- 
longing to Dr. Robert Anderson, who furnished 
some of the notes. It was accompanied with a 
life of Wilson, by the editor. 

In the mean time, Leyden began to be anxious 
about his future settlement in life. The cle- 
rical profession, which had been his early choice, 
he still preferred to every other ; but he had no 
near or certain prospect of obtaining a living. 
His expectations had been twice disappointed ; 
once by the failure of an arrangement, by which 
he was to have been appointed assistant and 
successor to the minister of Cavers, his native 
parish ; and a second time, when in prospect of 
a vacancy, which did not take place, in the 
church of Duddingstone, near Edinburgh, he 
had obtained from the Marquis of Abercorn, 



XXIX 

the patron of the parish, the promise of a pre- 
sentation to the living. * He saw his contem- 
poraries, one after another, provided for in the 
church, or successfully pursuing some other 
honourable profession ; whilst he grew weary 
of the routine of private tuition, and impatient 
of the drudgery of literary employment, which 
was both unprofitable and precarious. 

In these circumstances his thoughts turned 
upon the design, which he had often before had 
in his mind, of undertaking a journey of dis- 
covery into the interior parts of Africa; pro- 
vided he could obtain the patronage of the Si- 
erra Leone Company. But his friends, alarmed 
for his safety, when they saw him bent upon 
this difficult and dangerous project, persuaded 
him to look upon Asia as a quarter more likely 
to reward his search with important discoveries, 
particularly in literature and philology ; and one 
of them offered to use his influence in procuring 
him some appointment in the service of the East 
India Company. Leyden, who had long before 
felt a strong inclination towards India, and an 
ambition to distinguish himself in the learning 

* See Note [D.] 



XXX 



of the East, gladly embraced this proposal. It 
happened, that the only appointment which his 
friend could procure for him was that of As- 
sistant Surgeon. Finding himself therefore 
obliged to revive his medical knowledge, he 
devoted himself entirely to this object, and 
after a short period of intense application, was 
examined by the College of Surgeons, and ob- 
tained his diploma. At the same time, con- 
ceiving that it might be of advantage for him to 
have the higher degree of M. D. which circum- 
stances did not allow him to procure at Edin- 
burgh, he very readily obtained it from his 
friends in the University of St. Andrews. 

In the month of December, 1802, he paid a 
farewell visit to his parents, and after staying 
with them a few days, set out for London, hav- 
ing received information, that the ship Hindos- 
tan, in which he was to embark for India, was 
expected to sail about the middle of January. 
But, when that period came, he was prevented 
from embarking by a severe attack of the cramp 
in his stomach. This proved in the end a very 
fortunate illness, for the Hindostan, on her way 
to the Downs, was wrecked on Margate sands, 
when a considerable number of the persons on 
board perished. 



XXXI 

It was now settled that he should proceed to 
Madras, in the Hugh Inglis, which was not to 
sail till the beginning of April. By this arrange- 
ment, he was enabled to spend nearly three 
months in London, where he found several of 
his friends, in whose society he passed this inter- 
val in the most agreeable manner. Those to 
whom he was most obliged for their kind atten- 
tion to him, were the late Mr. Ellis, the author 
of "Specimens of the Early English Poets," and 
Mr. Heber. He was introduced to many of the 
most eminent literary characters of the Metropolis, 
to most of whom his reputation as a man of learn- 
ing and genius was already known. He made an 
excursion to Oxford with Mr. Heber, and was 
exceedingly well received by Bishop Cleaver, Pro- 
fessors White, Ford, and Winstanley, and other 
learned men of that University, where he stayed 
several days. In London, he was introduced to 
several distinguished characters among the no- 
bility, and had frequent opportunities of extend- 
ing his knowledge of the world, by mixing with 
the assemblies of privileged rank and fashion. 
He was very well received in particular, by Lord 
Castlereagh, the Marquis of Abercorn, and the 
Honourable Mr. Greville, and was by them 
strongly recommended to Lord William Ben- 



XXX11 

tinck, who had been newly appointed Governor 
of Madras, and to whose kindness and patronage 
Leyden was afterwards much indebted. 

During his stay in London, he prepared for 
the press his beautiful poem " The Scenes of In- 
fancy," in which he has united interesting allu- 
sions to popular superstitions, and local history, 
with a highly animated description of that part 
of Scotland which gave him birth. Of this poem, 
it has been said that "in genuine feeling and fancy, 
" as well as in harmony and elegance of compo- 
" sition, it can encounter very few rivals in the 
" English language. It touches so many of the 
" genuine strings of the lyre, with the hand of 
" inspiration ; it draws forth so many tender 
" notes, and carries our eyes and our hearts 
" so utterly among those scenes with which 
" the real Bard is conversant, that we, for 
" a moment, enjoy some portion of the creative 
" powers of the poet himself. No where labour- 
" ed, studied, or affected, he writes in a stream 
" of natural eloquence, which shews the en- 
" tire predominance of his emotion over his 
" art."* 

* Gentleman's Magazine for May, 1812. 



XXX1U 

The principal defect of the " Scenes of In- 
fancy," is the want of connection between its dif- 
ferent parts, which were mostly written at different 
times, several years before, and at first without 
any view to unity of design. It had formerly 
been announced as about to be published under 
the title of " The Vale of Teviot." He now 
changed the title, and added several passages ex- 
pressive of his feelings upon the prospect of 
parting from his friends, and bidding farewell to 
his native land. It was printed soon after his 
departure, under the superinten dance of his 
friend Dr. Thomas Brown, who is himself en- 
titled to a high rank among the writers of 
Poetry, who, in the present day, have so greatly 
enriched the literature of Britain. 

On the seventh day of April, 1803, Ley den 
went on board the Hugh Inglis, and proceeded 
to Madras. Among his fellow passengers were 
several individuals of excellent talents and in- 
formation, whose society beguiled the tedious- 
ness of the voyage, and with whom he after- 
wards maintained an epistolary correspondence, 
upon subjects relating to the institutions, lan- 
guages, and literature of India. He was parti- 

c 



XXXIV 

cularly pleased to find amongst the number, Mr. 
Robert Smith, the brother of his friend the 
Reverend Sidney Smith, who, with his lady, 
were going to Bengal. When he arrived at 
Madras, on the 19th of August, after a voyage 
of between four and five months, he was in very 
indifferent health. He had the good fortune to 
find a kind friend in Dr. Jamas Anderson, the Phy- 
sician General, who is greatly distinguished as a 
Naturalist. Under his hospitable roof, Leyden 
stayed four weeks. The circumstances of his 
landing, and, the impressions he felt at the sight 
of so many new objects, are somewhat ludi- 
crously described in a letter written by him a 
considerable while afterwards.* 

His first employment after his arrival, was 
in the General hospital at Madras, of which he 
had nearly the whole charge for more than four 
months. His being permitted to reside there so 
long was considered as a favour, as it afforded 
him an opportunity for the study of the lan- 
guages, of which he availed himself with his 
usual ardour and perseverance. On the 15th of 
January, 1808, he was promoted, by the particu- 

* See Note [E.] 



XXXV 

lar recommendation of Lord William Bentinck 
to the office of Surgeon and Naturalist to the 
Commissioners, who were appointed, under the 
superintendance of Major Mackenzie, to survey 
the provinces in the Mysore, recently conquered 
from Tippoo Sultaun. They did not, however, 
set out on the survey till the 9th of June. Their 
route lay through Bangalore and Seringapatam, 
from whence they were to visit Soonda, near 
Goa, and then proceed southward, by the range 
of hills called the Ghauts, as far as the point of 
the Peninsula, opposite to the island of Ceylon. 
While the state of his health permitted his exer- 
tions in this fatiguing service, he drew up some 
useful papers, which he communicated to the 
Government, relative to the mountainous strata, 
which he had an opportunity of observing, and 
their mineral indications — to the diseases, me- 
dicines, and remedies of the natives of Mysore, 
and the peculiarities of their habits and constitu- 
tion, by which they might be exposed to dis- 
ease — to the different crops cultivated in My- 
sore and their rotation — and, to the languages 
of Mysore, and their respective relations. It 
was in this service that he met with the strange 
adventure, of which the following account is ex- 
tracted from one of his letters. 
c 2 



XXXVI 

" 1 was one day sent to a great distance to take 
charge of a sick officer who had been seized by the 
jungle fever in the depth of one of the vast forests 
and wildernesses of Mysore. After travelling for 
two days, as fast as horse and men could carry 
me, I arrived about one o'clock in the morning 
at the bank of a large river, in the midst of a 
forest. The river was a flood, and roared 
terribly, and seemed very rapid. I sent in a 
palankeen-boy that could swim, and he presently 
got out of his depth. At a little distance stood 
a village within these three years notorious for 
being a nest of robbers. I, with great difficulty, 
knocked up some of the villagers, who were 
nearly as much afraid as Christie's Will * at the 
visit of a Sirdar. Af ler a great deal of discus- 
sion in Canara and Hindostani, in order to in- 
duce them to shew me a ford, or make a raft to 
cross the water on, as no time was to be lost, 
three of them at last undertook to convey me 
over alone. I got into a large brass kettle, with 
three ears, and sat down in the bottom of it, ba- 
lancing myself with great accuracy ; each of the 
three swimmers laid hold of one of the ears, and 
then we swam round and round in a series of 
circles, till we reached the opposite bank. Had 

* See the Border Minstrelsy, vol. iii. page 112. 



xxxvn 

it been light I should have been quite giddy. — 
Now did you ever hear a more apocryphal story 
in your life ? — and yet it is merely fact. I have 
only to add that after crossing the river, I found 
myself in a wilder jungle than ever, and was dog- 
ged by a monstrous tiger for nearly three miles." 

But partly from the fatigue which he en- 
dured upon this occasion, his health became so 
much impaired, that about the end of November, 
when the surveyors were on the confines of the 
Wynaad and Coimbatore, it was necessary for 
him to leave them and repair to Seringapatam, 
where he remained some months suffering under 
a lingering fever, and liver complaint. He had 
before formed a friendship with Colonel Wilks, 
and had been treated by him with great kind- 
ness and attention. He now met with his dis- 
tinguished countryman, Sir John Malcolm, who 
had come from Bengal, to resume his station of 
Resident at the Court of Mysore. This gentle- 
man struck with Leyden's character and situ- 
ation, and finding him to be a native of the same 
part of Scotland with himself, took an anxious 
concern in his welfare, and carried him to the 
house which he inhabited at Mysore, where the 
enjoyment of congenial society, and the kind- 

c 3 



XXXV111 

ness and cordiality with which he was entertain- 
ed contributed greatly to the re-establishment 
of his health. 

When Leyden was at Mysore, an occurrence 
took place which shewed that ill-health had 
neither subdued his spirit, nor weakened his 
poetical powers. His host, Sir John Malcolm, 
one morning before breakfast, gave him back 
his poem of the " Scenes of Infancy/' which he 
had borrowed a few days before ; — on looking 
at the title-page, Leyden observed that Sir John 
had written with a pencil the stanzas which 
follow : — 

Thy muse, O Leyden seeks no foreign clime, 
For deeds of fame, to twine her brow with bays ; 

But finds at home whereon to build her rhyme, 
And patriot virtues sings in patriot lays. 

'Tis songs like thine that lighten labour's toil, 
That rouse each generous feeling of the heart, 

That bind us closer to our native soil, 

And make it death from those we love to part. 

'Tis songs like thine that make each rugged wild, 
And barren heath, to Scotia's sons more dear 

Than scenes o'er which fond nature partial smil'd, . 
And rob'd in verdure thro' the varied year. 



XXXIX 

'Tis songs like thine that spread the martial flame, 
Mid Scotia's sons, and bid each youth aspire 

To rush on death, to gain a deathless name, 
And live in story like his glorious sire. 

While the clear Teviot thro' fair meads shall stray, 
And Esk still clearer seeks the Western main ; 

So long shall Border maidens sing thy lay, 

And Border youths applaud the patriot strain. 



Leyden read these verses once or twice over, 
with much apparent satisfaction, and then ex- 
claimed, " What ! attack me at my own trade ; 
this must not be. You gentlemen," addressing 
himself to two or three who were in the parlour, 
" may go to breakfast, but I will neither eat nor 
drink, until I have answered this fine compli- 
ment.' ' He retired to his room, and in less 
than half an hour, returned with the following 
lines, addressed to Colonel Malcolm: — 



Bred mid the heaths and mountain swains, 
Rude nature charm'd my early view ; 

I sighed to leave my native plains, 
And bid the haunts of youth adieu. 

c 4> 



xl 



Soft as I trac'd each woodland green, 
I sketch'd its charms with parting hand ; 

That memory might each fairy scene 
Revive within this eastern land. 

Careless of fame, nor fond of praise, 
The simple strains spontaneous sprung^ 

For Teviot's youths I wrote the lays, 
For Border-maids my songs I sung. 

Enough for me if these impart 
The glow to patriot virtue dear ; 

The free-born soul, the fearless heart, 
The spirit of the mountaineer. 

Torn from my native wilds afar, 
Enough for me if souls like thine 

Unquench'd beneath the eastern star, 
Can still applaud the high design. 

When he thought himself considerably better, 
he got permission to visit the sea-coast, and to 
try the effect of a voyage to facilitate his re- 
covery. With this intention he went down to 
Malabar, through the mountainous districts of 
Coorg, Chericul, and Cotiote, in the beginning 
of May 1 805. The following is an extract from 
a letter which he wrote during this journey. 



xli 

" Now that we have made our way from the 
confines of Mysore to the first post on the bor- 
ders of Cotiote, it is time to turn back and make 
our acknowledgments for the very hospitable re- 
ception we experienced at Coorg, in conse- 
quence of your communications with the Raja. 
For my own part, I have been quite delighted 
both with the country and its inhabitants. The 
grotesque and savage scenery, the sudden 
peeps of romantic ridges of mountains burst- 
ing at once on you through the bamboo 
bushes, the green peaks of the loftiest hills, 
towering above the forests on their declivi- 
ties, and the narrow cultivated stripes be- 
tween the ridges, all contributed strongly to 
recall to memory some very romantic scenes in 
the Scotish Highlands. At the same time, the 
frank, open, and bold demeanour of the natives, 
so different from the mean and cringing aspect of 
all the native Hindoos that I had hitherto set 
eyes on, could not fail to be beheld with great 
approbation by a mountaineer of my way of 
thinking. The first thing that the Subidar of Vira 
Rajendra Pettah did, to my utter astonishment, 
was to come up and give me such a shake by the 
Jhand, as would have done credit to a Scotsman. 
This was so utterly unexpected on my part, that 



xln 



it drove quite out of my head a most elaborate 
Tamul oration, which I was in the act of ad- 
dressing to him. I assure you, however, that I 
gave him such a tug in reply, that if he do not 
understand a Scotsman's language very accu- 
rately, he wont forget a Scotsman's gripe in a 
hurry. We stopped for one day at Vira Rajen- 
dra Pettah. I wish it had been a score, for I 
found I got sensibly stronger in the Coorg 
Mountains than ever I have been since." 

When he arrived at Cananore, intending to 
sail from thence to Bombay, he found himself 
obliged to defer his voyage, as the stormy season 
had set in, during which, the navigation of the 
coast is interrupted. He continued in Malabar 
four months, and found much to interest and 
gratify his curiosity at Calicut, Paulgaut-cherry, 
and other places which he visited in that fine 
country. At Paulgaut-cherry, he was detained 
six w r eeks by a very severe attack of illness, 
from which, as soon as he was sufficiently reco- 
vered, he proceeded by the wild and unfrequent- 
ed route of Trichoor, the capital of the Cochin 
Rajah, to the city of Cochin, from whence he 
went to Aleppe, Quilon, Anjengo, Pada Nel- 
kim, and other places in Travancore. In all 



xliii 



these journeys, and even when oppressed with 
sickness, he never for a moment lost sight of the 
great objects of his pursuit, but turned an atten- 
tive and searching eye to whatever was connect- 
ed with literature in the towns where he stopped, 
and the regions through which he travelled. At 
Seringapatam, when confined by illness to his 
room, he made considerable progress in the San- 
scrit language, and amused himself with trans- 
lating tales from the Persic and Hindostani. 
Wherever he went, he visited the temples, and 
remarkable buildings on his route, copied and 
translated the ancient inscriptions, and in every 
place sought after materials to illustrate the his- 
tory, the customs, and the religion of the natives. 
He particularly distinguished himself, by trans- 
lating some inscriptions in an obsolete dialect, 
of the Tamul language, and, in an ancient cha- 
racter called the Lada Lippee, or Verraggia, 
which no European had ever been able to decy- 
pher, and which was hardly known even to the 
most learned Indians, but which he found out by 
comparing together several different alphabets. 
He also succeeded in interpreting the Tambuca 
Shashanas, or brazen inscriptions, belonging to 
the Jews of Cochin, the meaning of which was 
lost in remote autiquity. But his pursuits were 



xliv 

often interrupted by renewed attacks of his dis- 
order, which made him eager to execute his de- 
sign of making a voyage. Wherefore, about the 
end of September, the favourable season being 
come, he embarked at Quilon, in a Parsee vessel, 
bound for Puloo Penang, and arrived at that 
island on the 22d of October* 

When sailing near the coast of Sumatra, they 
were very near being taken by the French, and 
it was upon this occasion, that he wrote the 
spirited Address to his Malay Krees, or Dagger, 
which was actually composed during the heat of 
the pursuit. His account of the occurrences of 
this voyage, in a vessel where he was the only 
European 0"n board, is so amusing, and presents 
in so striking a light Leyden's talents for 
observation, and his skill in collecting curious 
information wherever it was to be found, that 
it is hoped the reader will not think the follow- 
ing extracts too long. They are taken from his 
journal, written during the voyage, and ad- 
dressed to one of his friends. 

" Sept. 29th. — Our vessel is termed in Ara- 
bic the Mukhlal, after some Oulia* or other, who 

* Mussulman Saint. 



xlv 

I hope will take good care of us. The Nak- 
hoda is a Parsee, and he has a companion, who 
has nearly as much authority as himself, who is 
an Arab. The Steersman, or Sukhanee, and the 
two Mu'ullims, or pilots, are Maldivians, pro- 
digiously addicted to sorcery, and adepts com- 
pletely in the Elmi Dawut. The rest of the 
crew, about twenty in number, are Mapillas from 
Malabar ; faith and troth, I very much ques- 
tion, if ever Sinbad the Sailor sailed with a more 
curious set. It is curious too, that the greater 
part of his adventures occurred in these very 
seas. If you recollect, he gives a particular ac- 
count of King Mehrage, which is only the Ara- 
bic mode of pronouncing Maha Rajah, a title 
of the Rajah of Travancore, and indeed of every 
Rajah with whom I have any acquaintance." 

" Sept. 30. — We are getting into a dread- 
fully rough sea, and as the mariners have no 
confidence in their own science, they have furled 
all the sails, and have left us pitching a perfect 
naked hull on the water." 

" Oct. 1. — We have had a terrible night, in 
which it was quite impossible to rest between 
the roaring and hissing of the waves, and the 



xlvi 

barbarous dissonance of the Arabic hymns that 
have resounded all night." 

" Oct. 4th, 5th, 6th, 7th. — These four days 
there has been a high swell of the sea, with 
smart gales and showers, the sea generally of a 
deep green or of a deep violent colour. On the 
morning of the fifth a ship was descried at a 
great distance on the lee-beam. As she neither 
made any efforts of consequence to come up 
with us, nor displayed any colours, she excited 
little apprehension till the close of evening, when 
having gained the weather-beam, she made a 
sudden dart at us, like a leopard at a fawn, and 
was nearly up with us before we perceived her. 
Then followed a scene which it is impossible 
to describe, and which demonstrated our ship- 
mates to be even greater cowards than fools. 
Every body crowded instantly on the poop, 
where they attended to nothing but the motions 
of one of the Maldivians, who commenced his 
operations with great energy. Having written 
a number of charms, he threw them into the 
sea, leisurely chanting an Arabic prayer with 
a loud voice all the time. As the charms fell 
into the sea the people persuaded themselves 
that the sea .roughened, and the waves rose ; 



xlvii 

and their idea of their efficacy was still more 
confirmed by the ship in pursuit, which had 
now approached within hail, happening at this 
very time to lose her wind, and drop astern. 
At the sight of this the Maldivian began to sing 
out more zealously than ever, and presently fell 
into a state approaching convulsion, during 
which he was held by the rest of the crew, and 
prevented from falling into the sea ; all which 
time he continued in a most ecstatic manner to 
howl forth Arabic prayers to God, the Prophet 
AH, and the Imams, but especially Ruffia, one 
of the fourteen Khanwadehs, the prayers and 
invocations of all whose disciples are performed 
with loud noise and bodily contorsions. It 
seems there are four super-eminent Pirs, and 
fourteen Khanwadehs. These four Pirs are as 
it were the founders of sects, which have the 
following names from their founders : 1. Kadi- 
riah, who are silent in religious acts. 2. Chish- 
tiah. 3. Serwirdiah. 4. Tabkattiah, or Mud- 
dariah. The sect of Ruffia is a division of the 
last order. I thought for some time every body 
had been going stark staring mad, but after a 
little the Maldivian became a little more calm, 
continuing, however, to exclaim with all his 
might, " bom ! bom !" which I understood to be 



xlviii 

his pronunciation of the Tamul pochom, " let 
us go on ;" on which, I believe every rag of sail 
in the vessel was hoisted in defiance of the weak- 
ness of our masts, As we did not seem, how- 
ever, likely to get rid of our companion so 
easily, who still seemed intent on coming up 
with us, I secured the English pass and bill of 
lading, and directed the supercargo, that if it 
was a Frenchman, and came aboard of us, to 
present only his Guzeratty papers, which they 
were not likely to understand. Thinking it 
also probable, that if we were captured, as our 
snow is only of 80 tons burden, that they would 
not throw more than ten or twelve men aboard 
of us, to conduct us to the Isle of France, I 
proposed concealing myself with five men among 
the bales of cloth, till it should be night, when 
the Frenchmen being necessarily divided into 
two watches, might be easily overpowered. This 
was agreed to, but we found there was a woeful 
deficiency of arms, as besides my pistols and 
dagger, we could only muster a single taiwar, 
and a couple of kreesses in the whole ship. A 
like difficulty occurred in selecting the persons 
to make the attempt. I could depend upon my 
Persian and Arab servants, and at last pitched 
on two Malabars and one Maldivian. So hav- 

5 



xlix 

ing made the best arrangements we could, I re- 
tired to rest and to wait the event in darkness, 
having hoisted our dead-lights. After forming 
this daring resolution, our shipmates held a 
council of war on the poop, and continued with 
tolerable courage to debate over the subject in 
every point of view till day-break, when unfor- 
tunately descrying the masts of a vessel on our 
weather beam, which was immediately supposed 
to be our old friend, the sentiments of every 
person underwent a most unfortunate alteration, 
and the Nakhoda, and the Soucan, as well as 
the Supercargo, informed me that they would 
not tell a lie for the whole world, even to save 
their lives \ and in short, that they would neither 
be airt nor pairt in the business. I, who had 
all this time been addressing my dagger with 
great fervour, when I heard this paltry resolu- 
tion, was strongly tempted to have buried it in 
the hearts of the cowardly wretches ; but as it 
could serve no purpose, I contented myself with 
desiring the Nakhoda at least to hoist his Arab 
flag ; but even this could not be accomplished, 
for after some time they asserted roundly that 
they had no other flag but one inscribed with 
some sentences of the Koran, for raising the 
wind. This I fancy is a downright lie, but 

d 



1 



there is no remedy. Fortunately the sea ran 
very high, and we escaped more through the 
kindness of Providence than our own deserts. 

" Oct. 8th, 9th. — These two last days we 
had an uncommon high sea, with violent rain 
and squalls, the sea dashing over us, and into 
the cabin, where I have been completely wet 
and drenched. The Maldivians furled the sails 
and let us drive before the tempest, while they 
invoked with dreadful yells of the whole crew, 
sometimes the merciful God, and sometimes the 
two kings of the sea, and of the desart forest 
Melech bar 6 bahher, who I find are brothers, 
as in the northern mythology. Their proper 
names, however, are Khajeh Kheider and Mihter 
Elias, (according to others the same person,) the 
first of whom is the Melech Bar, or Erl King, 
who presides over lonely forests and desarts; 
the second is properly the King of the Sea, or 
Melech-i-bahher. They were, at least, as fer r 
vent in their devotions, as ever were Catholic 
mariners r to the Virgin Mother, the Star of the 
Sea, as she is poetically denominated. The 
crew, however, were soon obliged to leave the 
devotional part of the business to the steersman, 
and apply themselves actively to the pump, as 



li 

it was found we were making an alarming quan- 
tity of water. The rain continued without in- 
termission, and as the whole crew seemed nearly 
exhausted with cold and fatigue, I proposed 
recruiting them with a glass of gin. This was 
agreed to, but happening unluckily in giving 
directions to my servant, to mention the word 
sherab, they assured me unanimously they would 
drink no sherab. After a vivid debate on the 
subject, we at last hit on a proper medium, and 
it was resolved, that though it would be a very 
bad action to drink it as sherab or wine, yet 
there would be no harm in the world in drink- 
ing it as duwa, medicine : one of the sages ob- 
serving, with a look of the most profound wis- 
dom, that we must sometimes drink even poison 
as medicine. 

" Oct, 10. — Immediately after day-break this 
day, we descried land, which I imagine to be 
the coast of Sumatra, east of Achin. 

" Oct. 11th. The evening is most divinely 
beautiful, and here are we sticking on a smooth 
glassy sea " as idle as a painted ship, upon a 
painted ocean." The western sky presents a 
freckled net- work of brilliant, golden yellow, 

d 2 



/ 



Hi 



gradually changing into a bright rose colour, 
which softens as the evening descends. The 
sea gently heaving without a ripple on its 
surface, towards the east displays a clear vio- 
let and broken claret-colour, while toward the 
west it gently fluctuates in fleeting shades 
from the hue of molten gold, to that of bur- 
nished copper, from a clear whitish yellow, to 
a deep brazen red. These shades continue 
flickering along the surface, for a considerable 
time after the sun has descended, when all at 
once the surface of the ocean assumes the hue 
of clear green liquid glass, 

" Oct. 16th. Achin Hill presents a scene of 
enchantment, flooded with softened crimson, 
by the rays of the setting sun. — The Maldivian 
informs me, that we have now no danger to 
fear, if we steer clear of Tavai, the mountain of 
loadstone, which he affirms, is at a vast dis- 
ance in the direction of Mergui. This moun- 
tain of loadstone is the same I fancy which fi- 
gures in the Arabian Nights, in the tale of the 
third calendar, and which was wont to attract 
all the iron out of the vessels of Prince Ajeeb. 
It is certain that this fable was also known to 
the Greeks, for Palladius alludes to it, and 



liii 

places it among the Maniolae islands. He adds, 
that on account of its attractive power, the ma- 
riners who navigated these seas, used no iron 
in the structure of their vessels, but sewed the 
planks together. Hence it would also appear 
that the Greeks were acquainted with the mode 
of sewing the planks of small vessels together 
with coir, a practice particularly used among 
the Maldives and Laccadines, though the Ma- 
soula boats on the coast are of the same con- 
struction. Masoula is the Mahratta term for 
fish. 

ci Oct. 19th. This cursed ship is now become 
completely detestable. The tainted odour of 
spoiled rice, and rotten salt-fish, spoiled by the 
salt-water which washes over us from day to 
day, has quite filled the cabin ; and legions of 
small scorpions begin to make their appearance 
amid the myriads of cock-roaches and ants, by 
which we are constantly infested. The ship 
smells all over like an open sepulchre, and the 
water is putrid and nauseous. 

" Last night there has been a good deal of rain 
with very vivid flashes, of lightning. It is very 
singular that the Persians and Indians firmly be- 

d 3 



liv 

lieve that the matter of lightning, or that sub- 
stance which forms the thunder-bolt, is a species 
of iron. When this substance is mixed in a very 
small proportion with steel for the formation of 
scimitars and other weapons, it is supposed to 
give them a temper and edge which nothing can 
resist. This lightning metal accordingly bears 
a very high price, and is said to be chiefly pro- 
cured from a certain mountain in Irak. I have 
not been able to procure an accurate account 
of the manner in which it is obtained, but the 
natives are said to form holes in the mountain, 
which they fill with moist cow dung, a species of 
rice, and a third substance the name of which 
I have not heard, and when the thunder-bolt 
falls, a small quantity of the metal is found in 
these pits. 

* Persians, Indians, and Arabs are all believers 
in the hydrographic doctrine of the seven seas. 
The Deria Sabz, or green sea, is placed in 
Muggneb, and in this they assert that it is im- 
possible to sail for the sea-weeds. In this sea 
they assert that a species of Nilofer or water-lily 
is produced, the calyx of which is of great size, 
and contains the perfect form of a beautiful 
young child, affixed to the lotus by the navel, 



lv 



which dies as soon as it is separated from it. 
This child they term Biche ab, the child of the 
water." 

Notwithstanding the untoward circumstances 
of this voyage, it does not appear that Ley den 
felt any bad effects from it. It was not long 
before he found his health considerably im- 
proved by the delightful climate of Puloo Pe- 
nang. He remained there several months, happy 
in the enjoyment of agreeable society, and in 
that increase of intellectual energy which the 
sight of new and interesting objects seldom fails 
to produce. The peculiarities of the Malay 
race drew his eager attention, and in order to 
extend his knowledge of their language, manners 
and religion, he visited various places upon the 
neighbouring coasts. The information thus col- 
lected, he afterwards gave to the public in a 
" Dissertation on the Languages and Literature 
of the Indo-Chinese Nations." It was printed 
in the tenth volume of the Asiatic Researches. 
This work, considering the short time he had 
been in India when he wrote it, is a wonderful 
monument of his genius and industry. It con- 
tains an investigation of the origin and descent 
of the various tribes that people the Malayan 

d4 



lvi 



Peninsula and Islands, by comparing together, 
and tracing the affinity of their languages and 
customs with each other, and with those of the 
nations more to the westward. 

In the beginning of 1806, he left Puloo Pe- 
nang, with renovated health, but not without 
regret at parting with the friends whose kind- 
ness had greatly contributed to render his stay 
there delightful. Among these were Mr.Dundas, 
the Governor of the Island, and Mr. Raffles, 
who was afterwards Governor of Java. 

Before his departure, Leyden addressed to 
Mrs. Raffles, under the name of Olivia, his beau- 
tiful verses, " The Dirge of the departed Year :" 
which were printed in the newspaper of the 
island. 

He now proceeded to Bengal, in the Portu- 
gueie vessel Santo Antonio. In the Journal 
which he wrote during this voyage, he says, — 
" I have now been able to reconnoitre our crew, 
among which I do not find that there is a single 
European $ the master and officers being Macao- 
Portuguese, as well as many of the sailors, who 
have, during their whole lives, traded among 

11 



lvii 

these Eastern islands. They pass their time a 
little more merrily than we do, and seem to en- 
joy themselves vastly with their pork, their rice, 
curry, and greasy messes. In their eating, they 
differ little from the nations of India, except that 
they are more greasy in every thing, and as fond 
of pork as the Chinese themselves. Their 
cookery is a little too partial to cock-roaches 
and insects, which do not sit well on an English 
stomach. By their account of the Portuguese 
settlement of Macao, there seems to be little 
else to live upon but pork in some shape or 
other. The settlement they allege, contains 
about 6000 men, and 12,000 women. Many 
of the Portuguese breed from that place, have 
the oblique swinish eye of the Chinese, which 
would seem to indicate a mixture of Chinese 
blood. They proceed regularly to their Ave 
Marias at six o'clock, and at eight, all that have 
any taste for music assemble in the kuddeh *, 
with the captain and officers at their head, where 
they chaunt Portuguese and Malaya verses, in- 
termixed with a good deal of horse-play, and the 
recitation of aukward phrases in a circle, when 
the person that misses his nay-word, is con- 
demned to lead the next song. It would cer- 

* Cabin. 



lviii 

tainly be altogether impossible for an English- 
man, except of the very lowest order, to find any 
amusement in this diversion ; in consequence of 
which I suspect he would by no means be so 
happy as a Portuguese. I also imagine, it would 
be extremely difficult to find an English ship in 
which less quarrelling and angry words occur 
either among the officers or seamen." 

On the eighth of February, 1806, after a 
voyage of three weeks, he arrived at Calcutta, 
where he continued more than a year before he 
obtained any particular appointment, the infirm 
state of his health still not permitting him to re- 
turn to his fatiguing employment in the Madras 
presidency. About the beginning of 1807, he 
presented to the Government at Calcutta, a 
memoir of nearly two hundred pages, on the 
In do-Persian, Indo-Chinese, and Dekkani lan- 
guages. This was submitted to the College 
Council, who returned it to the Secretary of 
Government, with a very high eulogium, and 
with their unanimous recommendation that Ley- 
den should instantly be placed on the establish- 
ment of the College, with a proper salary, and 
in the order of succession for the first vacant 
professorship. Not long afterwards, his merits 
were recognised, by his election to the Profes- 



lix 

sorship of the Hindostani language, in the 
College, and his admission into the Asiatic So- 
ciety. He soon afterwards gave up the Profes- 
sorship, for the office of Judge of the twenty- 
four Pargunnahs of Calcutta, to which he was 
appointed by Lord Minto, the Governor- Gene- 
ral, who honoured him with his friendship and 
patronage. The situation is an arduous and 
fatiguing one, uniting the functions of a soldier 
and a magistrate. It was his duty to head the 
troops employed to rid Bengal of the numerous 
bands of freebooters with w T hich it was then in- 
fested. In this employment, apparently so 
foreign to his habits and pursuits, he acquitted 
himself on various occasions with great credit to 
himself, and benefit to the public. Upon one 
occasion, when he returned from a successful ex- 
pedition into the province of Nuddiya, he pub- 
licly received the thanks of Lord Minto and the 
Government. 

In January, 1809, when he had held this situ- 
ation two years, he relinquished it, and was ap- 
pointed one of the Commissioners of the Court 
of Requests, in the city of Calcutta. To hold 
this office, it was requisite that he should be able 
to speak several of the Eastern languages ; its 



lx 

duties were fatiguing, and kept him busily em- 
ployed during three days in the week. But he 
was now in good health, and he devoted every 
interval of business to the laborious study of the 
languages and literature of the East. 

It is not intended here to give a minute ac- 
count of the progress of Ley den in his Oriental 
studies. He had, from the day of his arrival in 
India, made, to use one of his own terms, " a 
grasp" at all the principal languages of that vast 
continent, and as his passion for display (the 
marked defect of his character) led him to in- 
trude his knowledge, even when in a crude state, 
upon every class of society with which he 
mixed, he was naturally enough judged by many, 
who measured him by an ordinary standard, to 
be more superficial than profound. But though 
his pretensions often outran his acquirements, 
the result of his earliest efforts shewed that the 
latter were surprising; and the justice of that 
regard and friendship with which his character 
had inspired some of those most competent to 
decide upon his merit, in the part of India that 
he first visited, was confirmed on his arrival 
at Calcutta, by the opinion of the most dis- 
tinguished persons of that capital, who, struck 



lxi 

with admiration of his talents, extended to 
him every aid and encouragement that could 
stimulate him to an ardent perseverance in the 
path of literary eminence. Leyden was natu- 
rally pleased with that distinction which the 
notice and regard of such men conveyed, and 
he frequently boasted of it to his friends ; above 
all, he felt a just pride in having attained the 
friendship and approbation of Mr. Henry Cole- 
brooke, then President of the Asiatic Society, 
a gentleman who may be truly termed the most 
mature of all Oriental scholars. Sir John Mal- 
colm, who appears to have been one of his ear- 
liest and best friends in India, has well de- 
scribed, in a letter # written after Leyden's 
death, the character of the studies which he at 
this period pursued : " It will remain with those 
" who are better qualified than I am," (Sir John 
observes,) " to do justice to the memory of Dr. 
" Leyden. I only know that he rose, by the 
" power of native genius, from the humblest 
" origin to a very distinguished rank in the 
" literary world. His studies included almost 
" every branch of human science, and he was 
" alike ardent in the pursuit of all. The greatest 

* See Note [F.] 



Ixii 

" power of his mind was, perhaps, shewn in his 
" acquisition of modern and ancient languages. 
" He exhibited an unexampled facility, not 
" merely in acquiring them, but in tracing their 
" affinity and connection with each other ; and 
" from that talent, combined with his taste and 
" general knowledge, we had a right to expect, 
" from what he did in a very few years, that he 
" would, if he had lived, have thrown the 
cc greatest light upon the more abstruse parts 
" of the history of the East. In this curious, 
" but intricate and rugged path, we cannot 
" hope to see his equal." 

The works which Dr. Leyden had finished 
before his death, and to which Sir John Mal- 
colm alludes, were chiefly translations from the 
Persian, Arabic, and Sanscrit. There are also 
among his MSS. many valuable philological 
tracts, and several grammars completed; par- 
ticularly one of the Malay language, and of 
the Pracrit. To the latter task he had been 
prompted by his friend Mr. Henry Colebrooke, 
who has since expressed his satisfaction with 
Leyden's execution of this arduous and useful 
labour. 



lxiii 

The mode of Leyden's studies was as singular 
as his indefatigable application. Both are de- 
scribed in a very characteristical manner by Sir 
John Malcolm, in the same letter that has been 
before quoted : " It is not easy," (he observes,) 
" to convey an idea of the method which Dr. 
" Leyden used in his studies, or to describe the 
" unconquerable ardour with which these were 
" pursued. During his early residence in India 
" I had a particular opportunity of observing 
" both. When he read a lesson in Persian, a 
" person near him, whom he had taught, wrote 
" down each word on a long slip of paper, which 
" was afterwards divided into as many pieces as 
" there were words, and pasted in althabetical 
" order, under different heads of verbs, nouns, 
" &c. into a blank book, that formed a vocabu- 
" lary of each day's lesson. All this he had 
" in a few hours instructed a very ignorant 
" native to do ; and this man he used, in his 
" broad accent, to call « one of his Mechanical 
" Aids/ He was so ill at Mysore, soon after 
" his arrival from England, that Mr. Anderson, 
" the surgeon who attended him, despaired of 
" his life; but though all his friends endea- 
11 voured at this period to prevail upon him to 
" relax in his application to study, it was in 



lxiv 



u vain. He used, when unable to sit upright, 
«« to prop himself up with pillows, and con- 
" tinue his translations. One day that I was 
" sitting by his bed-side the surgeon came in ; 
" * I am glad you are here,' said Mr. Anderson, 
" addressing himself to me, ' you will be able 
" to persuade Leyden to attend to my advice. 
" I have told him before, and I now repeat, 
" that he will die if he does not leave off his 
" studies, and remain quiet.' ' Very well, Doc- 
" tor,' exclaimed Leyden, ' you have done your 
" duty, but you must now hear me ; / cannot 
" be idle ; and whether I die or live, the wheel 
" must go round to the last: 5 and he actually 
" continued under the depression of a fever and 
" a liver complaint, to study more than ten 
" hours each day." 

Leyden's attainments will excite greater ad- 
miration, and his merit will be more fully un- 
derstood, if the difficulties with which he had 
to struggle, independent of the wretched state 
of his health, be taken into consideration. Some 
of these are stated by himself, in a letter written 
after he had been somewhat more than a year in 
India, to one of his friends, who was engaged 
in the same pursuits with himself. " We are 



lxv 



" here," says he, " in the peninsula exactly in 
" the situation of the revivers of literature in 
" Europe, and likewise exposed to the same 
" difficulties in respect of the incorrectness of 
" MSS. the inaccuracy of teachers, and the 
" obstacles that must be encountered in pro- 
"curing either. It would be amusing to re- 
" count the tricks, and unfair practices that 
" have been attempted to be played off on me. 
" I have had a Bramin engaged to teach me 
" Sanscrit, who scarcely knew a syllable of the 
" language. I have had another attempt to 
" palm Hindostani on me for Mahratta. I have 
" had a Bramin likewise attempt to impose a 
" few Slogas, which are in the mouths of every 
" one, on me, for the translation of an ancient 
" inscription in the ancient Canara character. 
" Indeed the moral character of the Hindus — 
" ' the blameless, mild, patient, innocent chil- 
" dren of nature,' as they are ridiculously 
" termed by gossiping ignoramusses, who never 
" set eyes on them — is as utterly worthless and 
" devoid of probity, as their religion is wicked, 
" shameless, impudent, and obscene. Do you 
" recollect the savage picture of Leont'us Pi- 
" latus, Boccacio's preceptor in Greek? — It 
" corresponds wonderfully with that of my first 



lxvi 

" Sanscrit teacher, whose conduct to me was so 
" execrable, that I was obliged to dismiss him 
" with disgrace. I shall, most probably, never 
" be able to attain either the harmony of Pe- 
" trarch's numbers, or the suavity and grace 
" of Boccacio's prose ; but I shall certainly 
" conquer Sanscrit, though they failed in at- 
" taining the Grecian language. The preju- 
" dices of the Bramins have, however, relaxed 
" very little in our presidency, and excepting 
" Mr. Ellis, there is scarce a person that has 
" been able to break ground in this field of li- 
" terature. Major Wilks, acting Resident at 
" Mysore, informed me, that some years ago, 
" incited by the example of Wilkins and Sir 
" William Jones, he attempted to study San- 
" scrit at Madras, and exerted a great deal 
" of influence very unsuccessfully. The Du- 
" bashes, then all-powerful at Madras, threatened 
" loss of cast and absolute destruction to any 
" Bramin who should dare to unveil the mys- 
" teries of their sacred language to a Tartar 
" Frengi. This reproach of Pariar is what 
" we have tamely and strangely submitted to 
" for a long time, when we might with equal 
" facility have assumed the respectable cha- 
" racter of Chatriya, or Rqjapuira, In all my 



lxvii 

" conversations with the Bramins, I boldly 
" claim to be regarded as the immediate de- 
" scendant of the chief Brahmadica Swayumb- 
" huva, under the character and name of Adima, 
" and from his wife Iva, subject to a particular 
" Veda, more ancient than their own, which 
" was issued before Vyasa was born, and assert 
" that consequently they cannot expect me to 
" be subject to their laws, which were of later 
" promulgation than my own." 

But it is time to resume the narrative. To- 
wards the end of the year 1810, Leyden re- 
signed his appointment of Commissioner of Re- 
quests, and was preferred, by Lord Minto, to 
the situation of Assay Master at the Calcutta 
mint. He now enjoyed a very considerable 
salary, and had very easy duties to perform. 
" I have laid aside," says he, in a letter to his 
father, informing him of this appointment, " the 
" scales of justice for those of mammon; and 
" instead of trying men and their causes, I 
" have only to try the baser, but much less re- 
" fractory, metals of gold and silver." To 
comfort his parents, who were ever anxious 
for his safety, he spoke, in this letter, of his 
anticipated return to Britain, and told them 

e 2 



lxviii 

that he expected to have no more changes dur- 
ing his stay in India. 

The fatal event which was approaching, was 
a sad reverse to these fond anticipations. He 
was never again to behold those parents whom 
he so much loved and revered ; nor those scenes 
of his youth, of which he had sung so sweetly. 
His services were required in the expedition 
against Java ; and he went with Lord Minto to 
assist in settling the country when conquered. 
He sailed from Calcutta on the 9th of March, 
1811, and arrived at Madras, where the army 
was collected, after a tedious voyage of thirty 
days. During this voyage he gave a striking 
proof of that rash intrepidity which formed al- 
ways a conspicuous feature in his character. 
Two of his fellow passengers, with whom he was 
upon terms of intimacy, offered to bet with him 
sixty gold mohurs, that he durst not climb up 
to the top-gallant-royal of the vessel ; a plan 
having been privately formed to have him bound 
there, until he should purchase his release by 
paying a fine. Leyden, whose courage was 
equalled by an unfortunate passion for display- 
ing it, which sometimes made him appear to 
disadvantage, accepted the wager, and fearlessly 



lxix 

mounted to the top ; when, perceiving the in- 
tended sequel of this insidious joke, he made a 
desperate, but successful effort to frustrate it. 
He hastily grasped a coir rope, with the assis- 
tance of which he threw himself down, though, 
as it slid through his hands, it cut them most 
severely. It must be added, that though he had 
thus more than won the wager, he refused to 
take the money, but having received a written 
order for the sum, immediately destroyed it. 
Such were the virtuous and strictly honourable 
principles in which he had been brought up, 
that he looked upon it as in some degree dis- 
graceful to gain money by wagers, or other 
species of gaming, or in any way in which it 
could not be regarded as an equivalent for the 
performance of useful services. 

After remaining fifteen days at Madras, he 
proceeded on his voyage, with that part of the 
expedition to which he was attached. They 
touched at Penang, Malacca, and other places 
on their route, where he found laborious em- 
ployment in translating the letters which had 
arrived from the Rajahs of different nations, 
in the neighbourhood, and in dictating procla- 
mations to send forward in the Malay, Javanese, 

e 3 



lxx 

Bugis, and Bali languages. At Malacca, where 
they were detained some time, his active curio- 
sity led him to make an excursion, which took 
up six days, into the interior of the Peninsula, 
in which he passed the boundary of the Malacca 
territory, and went into that of Johore. 

On the fourth of August the British troops 
landed in Java, at a village, six miles east from 
Batavia ; and three days afterwards they entered 
that celebrated city, without meeting with any 
resistance. Jansens, the governor, had with- 
drawn his forces, and retired to a strong posi- 
tion at fort Cornelis, about five miles up the 
country, whither they were soon followed and 
routed, after a hard fought battle, by the vic- 
torious invaders. 

In the meantime Leyden, with his usual eager- 
ness, employed every moment of leisure in re- 
searches into the literature of the conquered city. 
Amongst other objects calculated to excite and to 
gratify his favourite passion, was a library, said to 
contain a valuable collection of Oriental MSS. 
Going out one day with the intention of ex- 
ploring it, he accidentally went into a large low 
room in one of the public buildings, which had 



Ixxi 

been the depository of effects belonging to the 
Dutch government, and was also said to contain 
some Javanese curiosities. With fatal inad- 
vertence he entered it, without using the pre- 
caution of having it aired, although it had been 
shut up for some time, and the confined air was 
strongly impregnated with the poisonous qua- 
lity which has made Batavia the grave of so 
many Europeans. Upon leaving this place he 
was suddenly affected with shivering and sick- 
ness, the first symptoms of a mortal fever, which 
he himself attributed to the pestilential air he 
had been inhaling. He died on the 28th of 
August, after three days illness, in the thirty- 
sixth year of his age. His sorrowing friends, 
Lord Minto, and Mr. Raffles, saw the last sad 
offices done to his mortal remains. 

Thus Leyden closed his " bright and brief 
career," when his hopes were highest, and his 
fortune seemed most auspicious ; when he was 
advancing rapidly to that fame and distinc- 
tion, of which he was nobly ambitious, and 
when his merits had become sufficiently known 
to cause him to be deeply and universally re- 
gretted. 

e 4 



lxxii 

Having now traced the principal events of 
his life, it may not be improper to collect toge- 
ther some of the most striking traits of his per- 
son and character. — In his stature, Leyden was 
of the middle size, well proportioned, and of a 
slender rather than robust form. He had a clear 
complexion, brown hair, and dark eyes, full of 
animation and intelligence. His looks and ges- 
tures were quick, and expressive of habitual 
cheerfulness and activity. He possessed con- 
siderable muscular power, and athletic skill, and 
was fond of displaying his prowess in feats of 
strength and agility, for which he had been fa- 
mous in his early years, among the rustic youth 
of the vicinity. 

He was distinguished for the manly simplicity 
and independence of his character. He could 
suppress, but knew not the art of disguising his 
emotions. His foibles or defects seemed to have 
a distant resemblance of the same good qualities 
ill-regulated, and carried to an unreasonable ex- 
cess. Perfectly conscious of retaining the es- 
sence of politeness, he sometimes wantonly 
neglected the ceremonial.* In his judgment of 

.* See Note [G.] 



lxxiii 

men, and his value for their society and ac- 
quaintance, he was guided solely by his opinion 
of their moral and intellectual worth ; and never 
paid any regard to claims founded merely upon 
the adventitious circumstances of rank and for- 
tune ; but rather strenuously opposed them 
whenever he imagined they were obtrusively 
brought forward. His stubbornness in points 
like this did not fail to create prejudices against 
him, and to cause him to be misrepresented as 
vain and presumptuous. But those who knew 
him best, who saw him in the daily intercourse of 
life, and amongst his friends and relations, loved 
him for qualities the very reverse of these. His 
general deportment was truly amiable and unas- 
suming. He was a cheerful and good-humoured 
companion, and an affectionate and steady friend, 
deeply sensible of kindness, and ever ready to 
oblige. His gratitude to his generous patron 
Lord Minto was warm and zealous, and is often 
strongly expressed in his private letters. We 
have the testimony of that nobleman to the dis- 
interestedness of his character. In a speech de- 
livered at a visitation of the College of Fort 
William, soon after his return from the conquest 
of Java, speaking of Dr. Leyden, his Lordship 



lxxiv 

says, " No man, whatever his condition might be, 
" ever possessed a mind so entirely exempt from 
" every sordid passion, so negligent of fortune, 
" and all its grovelling pursuits — in a word, so 
" entirely disinterested — nor ever owned a 
u spirit more firmly and nobly independent. I 
" speak of these things with some knowledge, 
" and wish to record a competent testimony to 
" the fact, that within my experience, Dr. Ley- 
" den never, in any instance, solicited an object of 
" personal interest, nor, as I believe, ever inter- 
" rupted his higher pursuits, to waste a moment's 
" thought on these minor cares. Whatever trust 
" or advancement may at some periods have im- 
" proved his personal situation, have been, with- 
" out exception, tendered, and in a manner 
" thrust upon his acceptance, unsolicited, uncon- 
" templated, and unexpected. To this exemp- 
" tion from cupidity, was allied every generous 
" virtue worthy of those smiles of fortune, which 
" he disdained to court ; and, amongst many es- 
" timable features of his character, an ardent 
" love of justice, and a vehement abhorrence 
" of oppression, were not less prominent than 
"the other high qualities 1 have already de- 
" scribed," 



lxxv 

To this eulogy of the virtue and honour of his 
character by Lord Minto, it must be added, that 
Leyden was sincerely attached to that pure re- 
ligion, which he was early taught to reverence, 
and the principles and evidences of which had 
been for so long a period his chief objects of 
study. His conduct testified the sincerity of his 
belief; for, he uniformly abstained from every 
kind of vicious indulgence. But, in no point of 
view was he more estimable, than in his deep-felt 
gratitude to his parents, in the constant reve- 
rence and affection with which he treated them, 
and in the care he took to increase their com- 
forts as soon as fortune had put it in his 
power. They have survived the overwhelming 
affliction of his death, and still live to cherish, 
with pious sorrow, the recollection of his en- 
dearing virtues. He will be long remembered, 
with tender regret, by all who knew and can ap- 
preciate the genuine worth of his character, his 
dauntless integrity, his extraordinary talents, 
his public usefulness, the zeal and constancy of 
his friendship, and the gentleness of his heart. 

The observations which his own knowledge 
has led the writer of this memoir to make upon 
the character of Leyden, are fully supported by 



lxxvi 

the impression which he made on that society 
in which he passed the latter years of his life. 
To this fact additional testimony is derived from 
the following genuine and faithful picture which 
his friend, Sir John Malcolm has drawn of his 
qualities, disposition, and manners. " Dr. 
** Leyden," (this gentleman observes, in the 
letter before quoted,) " had from his earliest 
" years cultivated the muses, with a success 
" which will make many regret that Poetry did 
11 not occupy a larger portion of his time. The 
" first of his essays, which appeared in a sepa- 
" rate form, was ' The Scenes of Infancy/ a 
" descriptive Poem, in which he sung in no 
" unpleasing strains, the charms of his na- 
" tive mountains and streams in Teviotdale. 
" He contributed several small pieces to that 
" collection of Poems, called the * Minstrelsy 
"of the Scottish Border,' which he published 
" with his celebrated friend, Walter Scott. 
" Among these the * Mermaid/ is certainly the 
" most beautiful. In it he has shewn all the 
" creative fancy of a real genius. His 'Ode on 
" the Death of Nelson/ is undoubtedly the best 
" of those poetical effusions that he has pub- 
" lished since he came to India. The following 
" apostrophe, to the blood of that hero, has a 



lxxvii 

" sublimity of thought, and happiness of ex- 
" pression, which never could have been at- 
u tained but by a true poet : 

" Blood of the brave ! thou art not lost 

Amidst the waste of waters blue ; 

The tide that rolls to Albion's coast 

Shall proudly boast its sanguine hue ; 

And thou shalt be the vernal dew 

To foster valour's darling seed ; 
The generous plant shall still its stock renew, 
And hosts of heroes rise when one shall bleed." 

" It is pleasing to find him, on whom nature 
" has bestowed eminent genius, possessed of 
" those more essential and intrinsic qualities 
" which give the truest excellence to the human 
" character. The manners of Dr. Leyden were 
" uncourtly, more perhaps from his detestation 
" of the vices too generally attendant on refine- 
" ment, and a wish (indulged to excess from 
" his youth) to keep at a marked distance from 
" them, than from any ignorance of the rules 
" of good breeding. He was fond of talking ; 
u his voice was loud, and had little or no modu- 
" lation ; and he spoke in the provincial dialect 
" of his native country. It cannot be surprising 
" therefore that even his information and know- 



lxxviii 

" ledge, when so conveyed, should be felt by a 
" number of his hearers as unpleasant, if not 
« c oppressive. But with all these disadvantages 
" (and they were great) the admiration and es- 
" teem in which he was always held by those 
" who could appreciate his qualities, became 
" general wherever he was long known ; they 
" even who could not understand the value of 
" his knowledge loved his virtues. Though he 
" was distinguished by his love of liberty, and 
" almost haughty independence, his ardent 
" feelings, and proud genius, never led him into 
" any licentious or extravagant speculation on 
" political subjects. He never solicited favour, 
" but he was raised by the liberal discernment 
" of his noble friend and patron, Lord Minto, 
<« to situations that afforded him an opportunity 
" of shewing that he was as scrupulous and as 
" inflexibly virtuous in the discharge of his pub- 
" lie duties, as he was attentive in private life to 
" the duties of morality and religion. 

" The temper of Dr. Leyden was mild and 
" generous, and he could bear, with perfect good 
" humour, raillery on his foibles. When he ar- 
" rived at Calcutta, in 1805, I was most solicit- 
" ous regarding his reception in the society of 



lxxix 

" the Indian capital. • I entreat you my dear 
" friend,' (i said to him the day he landed,) « to 
" be careful of the impression you make on 
" your entering this community ; for God's sake 
* learn a little English, and be silent upon lite- 
" rary subjects, except among literary men.' 
" ' Learn English !' he exclaimed, f no, never ; 
" it was trying to learn that language that spoilt 
ct my Scotch, and as to being silent, I will pro- 
" mise to hold my tongue, if you will make fools 
« hold theirs.' 

" His memory was most tenacious, and he 
« sometimes loaded it with lumber. When he 
" was at Mysore, an argument occurred upon a 
" point of English history ; it was agreed to re- 
" fer it to Ley den, and to the astonishment of 
" all parties, he repeated verbatim, the whole of 
" an act of parliament in the reign of James the 
" First, relative to Ireland, which decided the 
" point in dispute. — On being asked how he came 
" to charge his memory with such extraordinary 
" matter, he said that several years before, when 
" he was writing on the changes which had 
" taken place in the English language, this act 
" was one of the documents to which he had 
" referred as a specimen of the style of that age, 



Ixxx 

" and that he had retained every word in his 
" memory. 

" His love of the place of his nativity, was 
" a passion in which he had always a pride, 
" and which in India he cherished with the 
" fondest enthusiasm. I once went to see him 
" when he was very ill, and had been confined 
" to his bed for many days ; there were several 
" gentlemen in the room ; he enquired if I had 
" any news ; I told him I had a letter from Esk- 
" dale ; * and what are they about in the borders ?' 
" he asked. A curious circumstance, I replied, is 
" stated in my letter ; and I read him a passage 
" which described the conduct of our volunteers 
" on a fire being kindled by mistake at one 
" of the beacons. This letter mentioned, that 
" the moment the blaze, which was the signal of 
" invasion, was seen, the mountaineers hastened 
" to their rendezvous, and those of Liddisdale 
" swam the Liddal river to reach it. — They 
" were assembled (though several of their houses 
" were at the distance of six or seven miles) in 
" two hours, and at break of day marched into 
" the town of Hawick (a distance of twenty 
" miles from the place of assembly) to the bor- 
c< der tune of ' Wha dar meddle wi' me.' Ley- 

5 



Ixxxi 

" den's countenance became animated as I pro- 
w ceeded with this detail, and at its close he 
" sprung from his sick-bed, and with strange 
" melody, and still stranger gesticulations, sung 
" aloud, ' wha dar meddle w m' me, wha dar med- 
" die wi' me.' Several of those who witnessed 
" this scene, looked at him as one that was rav- 
" ing in the delirium of a fever. 

" These anecdotes," (Sir John Malcolm con- 
cludes) " will display more fully than any de- 
" scription I can give, the lesser shades of the 
" character of this extraordinary man. An ex- 
" ternal manner, certainly not agreeable, and 
" a disposition to egotism, were his only de- 
" fects. How trivial do these appear, at a 
" moment when we are lamenting the loss of 
" such a rare combination of virtues, learning, 
" and genius, as were concentrated in the late 
« Dr.Leyden!" 

Though the habits of Ley den were very fru- 
gal, he had no value for money, but as it en- 
abled him to be kind and generous to his pa*, 
rents and family, or to indulge his passion for 
knowledge. The consequence was, that almost 
all he acquired, was either applied to the relief 

f 



lxxxii 

of his relations, or spent upon instructors, or 
the purchase of Oriental manuscripts, of which 
he left a large collection, that was directed by 
his will to be sold, and the produce to be given 
to his parents, to whom, and to his brothers and 
sister, he left the little property of which he 
died possessed. 

The writer cannot here resist his desire to 
relate an anecdote of Leyden's father, who, 
though in a humble walk of life, is ennobled 
by the possession of an intelligent mind, and 
has all that just pride which characterizes the in- 
dustrious and virtuous class of Scottish peasantry, 
to which he belongs. Two years ago, when Sir 
John Malcolm visited the seat of Lord Minto, in 
Roxburghshire, he requested that John Leyden 
who was employed in the vicinity, might be sent 
for, as he wished to speak with him. He came 
after the labour of the day was finished, and 
though his feelings were much agitated, he ap- 
peared rejoiced to see one, who he knew had 
cherished so sincere a regard for his son. In 
the course of the conversation which took place 
on this occasion, Sir J. Malcolm, after mention- 
ing his regret at the unavoidable delays which 
had occurred in realizing the little property that 



lxxxiii 

had been left, said he was authorized by Mr* 
Heber (to whom all Leyden's English manu- 
scripts had been bequeathed), to say, that such 
as were likely to produce a profit should be pub- 
lished as soon as possible, for the benefit of the 
family. " Sir," said the old man with animation, 
and with tears in his eyes, * God blessed me 
with a son, who, had he been spared, would have 
been an honour to his country ! — as it is, I beg 
of Mr. Heber, in any publication he may intend, 
to think more of his memory than my wants. 
The money you speak of, would be a great com- 
fort to me in my old age, but thanks to the Al- 
might y, I have good health, and can still earn 
my livelihood ; and I pray therefore of you and 
Mr. Heber to publish nothing that is not for my 
son's good fame." 

This natural and elevated sentiment speaks 
volumes on the benefits which have resulted, 
and must continue to result, from the general 
diffusion of education. Had the father of Ley- 
den been uninstructed, it is impossible, in the 
different spheres into which fortune cast them, 
that the ties of mutual regard, of parental pride, 
and of filial love, could have been so supported. 
Ignorance might have admired and wondered, but 

f 2 



Jxxxiv 

it could neither have appreciated nor delighted in 
those talents which were every moment carrying 
the object of its regard to a greater distance ; 
and knowledge could hardly have been re- 
strained by the impulses of natural affection, 
or the consciousness of duty, from an occasional 
feeling of shame at a low and vulgar connection. 
JBut it is not alone the ties of kindred that are 
fostered and preserved by this approximation to 
equality of mind in those who are placed in the 
most opposite conditions of life. The history of 
every nation proves that those societies which 
are most ignorant, are most pregnant with all 
the elements of dissention and mischief. This 
fact is indeed at length universally admitted, 
and in our own happy country knowledge is now 
boldly imparted to all ranks ; for it has been dis- 
covered, that though it may cause the lowest to 
aspire, it moderates his ambition to proper ob- 
jects, and prevents his being made the dupe of 
the designing. Thus, its general effect is to 
render him whom it reaches, the friend of order, 
and to soften, if it cannot disarm, those angry 
passions that are kindled by the inequalities of 
human life. The reason is plain, — the distance 
between man and man is lessened ; the lowest 
see that superior knowledge, a quality of which 



lxxxv 

they have sufficient to appreciate its value, is the 
usual concomitant of superior station, and are 
therefore content in their sphere. The highest 
feel compelled to grant to the intelligence of 
their inferiors, that respect which they might be 
disposed to refuse to their condition ; and these 
reciprocal sentiments, by establishing mutual re- 
gard, strengthen all those ties by which rational 
beings are best united under a rational govern- 
ment. 



NOTES. 



Note [A.] Page ii. 

It is remarkable, that though a man of uncommon in* 
telligence, and possessing great knowledge and skill in 
every branch of rural economy, he never could be pre- 
vailed upon lo undertake the charge of a farm on his 
own account. In this he acted from a firm and uniform 
persuasion that the trouble and anxiety frequently at- 
tendant upou the pursuit of gain, are very poorly com- 
pensated by the comforts it brings. 

Note [E.] PagevL 
His feelings on this occasion, when he found himself 
alone on the road, are alluded to in his Address to his 
Shadow, at the beginning of the fourth part of the 
Scenes of Infancy, 

" But when I left my father's old abode 

" And thou the sole companion of my road, &c." 

Note [C] Page xvii. 
In the following extract of a letter to Dr. Robert 
Anderson. " Our indefatigable and invaluable friend,, 
than whose a more ardent spirit never comprehended 



lxxxviii 

whatever is vast, nor surmounted whatever is difficult in 
literary pursuit, has prematurely closed his brilliant day, 
and is gone. When recently engaged in researches into 
the several affinities of certain languages in which he was 
extremely conversant, I felt an anticipation of pleasure 
from the thought that my enquiries would in due time 
come under his eye, and undergo the friendly correc- 
tion of his learned judgment. Alas ! this expectation 
was utterly vain, for the possibility of its being accom- 
plished was already past." 

Note [D.] PAGExxix. 

" We landed after passing through a very rough 
and dangerous surf, and being completely wetted by the 
spray, and were received on the beach by a number of 
the natives, who wanted to carry us from the boat on 
their naked, greasy shoulders, shining with cocoa oil. 
I leapt on shore with a loud huzza, tumbling half a 
dozen of them on the sand, but the sun was so excru- 
ciatingly hot, that my brains seemed to be boiling, for 
which reason I got into a palankeen, and proceeded to 
the principal inn. On my way thither, wishing to 
speak to one of my messmates, I overset the palankeen 
by leaning incautiously to one side, and nearly tumbled 
head foremost into the street. At the inn I was tor- 
mented to death by the impertinent persevering of the 
black people, for every one is a beggar as long as you 
are reckoned a griffin, or new-comer. I then saw a 
number of jugglers, and fellows that play with the 
hooded snake a thousand tricks, though its bite is moiv 
tad ; and among the rest I saw a fellow swallow a sword. 



lxxxix 

You are not to suppose, however, that this was a High- 
land broad sword, or even a horseman's sabre ; it was 
only a broad piece of iron, perfectly blunt at the edges. 
I then set out to survey the town in the self-same palan- 
keen. The houses had all of them an unearthly ap- 
pearance, by no means consonant to our ideas of Ori- 
ental splendor. The animals differed a good deal from 
ours, the dogs looked wild and mangy, their hair stood 
on end, and they had all the appearance of being 
mad. The cows and bullocks had all bunches on their 
shoulders, and their necks low, and apparently bowed 
beneath the burden. The trees were totally different 
from any that I had seen, and the long hedges of prickly 
aloes, like large house leeks in their leaves ; and spurge, 
whose knotted and angular branches seemed more like 
a collection of tape worms than any thing else. The 
dress of the natives was so various and fantastic, as quite 
to confuse you ; and their complexions of all kinds of 
motley hues, except the healthy European, red and 
white. Can you be surprised that my curiosity was 
so thoroughly satisfied that I even experienced a con- 
siderable degree of sickness, and felt all my senses so 
dazzled and tormented, that my head ached, and my 
ears tingled, and I was so completely fatigued by the 
multitude of new sensations which crowded on me on 
every side, that to free myself from the torment, like 
an ox tormented with gad-flies, I took to the water, 
and got again on ship-board with more satisfaction 
than I had descried land after a five months' voyage. 
The first night I slept ashore I was waked by my side 
smarting very severely, and rolling myself on my 
side, discovered, with very little satisfaction, that the 

g 



/ xc 

smart was occasioned by a large animal, which I imst- 
gined to be a snake. As the chamber was dark, I 
disengaged myself from it with as lifctle bustle and vio- 
lence as possible, not wishing to irritate such an antago- 
nist. With great pleasure I heard it make its way from 
the couch to the floor, and with great sang-froid lay 
down to sleep again as quietly as my blistered side would 
permit. On the morn, however, I discovered it to be a 
large lizard, termed a blood-sucker here, which nods 
with its head when you look at it, and it saluted me with 
a nod from the window like Xailoun's cousin, the Kardu- 
wan, in the Arabian Tales, which saluted him so kindly, 
though it would not condescend to enter into convers- 
ation." 

N0TE.[E/f Pagexxxiv. 

The vacancy in Duddingstone Church was expected 
to occur upon another occasion, a very short time before 
his departure for India. ' I remember well/ says Dr. 
Anderson*, c the expression of regret that escaped from 
him, when I spoke of his rashness in resigning a mode- 
rate competence in a respectable station, to pursue a 
phantom in a foreign land; — It is too late — I go — the 
die is cast — I cannot recede.' 

Note [F.] Page lxi. 

This letter, which was addressed to the editor of the 
Bombay Courier, enclosed the following lines, written by 

* In a letter to the writer of this Memoir. 



XC1 



Sir John Malcolm, as a tribute to the memory of his de- 
ceased friend : — 

" Where sleep the brave on Java's strand, 
Thy ardent spirit, Leyden, fled ! 
And Fame with cypress shades the land, 
Where genius fell, and valour bled. 

" When triumph's tale is westward borne, 
On Border hills no joy shall gleam ; 
And thy lov'd Teviot long shall mourn 
The youthful poet of her stream. 

" Near Jura's rocks, the Mermaid's strain 
Shall change from sweet to solemn lay; 
For he is gone, the stranger swain, 
Who sung the Maid of Colonsay. 

* The hardy tar, Britannia's pride, 
Shall hang his manly head in woe ; 
The Bard who told how Nelson died, 
With harp unstrung, in earth lies low* 

" I see a weeping band arise, 
I hear sad music on the gale ; 
Thy dirge is sung from Scotia's skies, 
Her mountain sons their loss bewaiL 

" The Minstrel of thy native North 
Pours all his soul into the song ; 
It bursts from near the winding Forth, 
And Highland rocks the notes prolong. 



xcii 

" Yes, he who struck a matchless lyre, 

O'er Flodden's field, and Katrine's wave n 
With trembling hand now leads the choir 
That mourn his Leyden's early grave." 

Mr. Scott has alluded with regret to the death of his 
friend in the following lines, from the " Lord of the 
Isles." 

" His bright and brief career is o'er, 

And mute his tuneful strains ; 
Quenched is his lamp of varied lore, 
That lov'd the light of song to pour ; 
A distant and a deadly shore 

Has Leyden's cold remains !" 

Note [G.] Page lxxii. 

That he was not unconscious of the peculiarities of his 
own character is evinced in the following passage of one 
of his letters to Dr. Robert Anderson : — 

" I often verge so nearly on absurdity, that I know it 
is perfectly easy to misconceive me, as well as misrepre- 
sent me." 



ODE TO PHANTASY. 



WRITTEN IN 1796. 



The following may be considered as a kind of 
sombrous Ode to Fancy, written during an attack 
of the ague. 



Avaunt the lark's clear thrilling note 
That warbles sweet through ether blue, 

While on the sloping sun-beam float 
Her waving pinions wet with dew ! 
Too dire the power whose sullen sway 
My torpid nerves and breast obey. — 



XC11 



" Yes, he who struck a matchless lyre, 

O'er Flodden's field, and Katrine's wave 
With trembling hand now leads the choir 
That mourn his Leyden's early grave." 



Mr. Scott has alluded with regret to the death of his 
friend in the following lines, from the " Lord of the 



Isles." 



" His bright and brief career is o'er, 

And mute his tuneful strains ; 
Quenched is his lamp of varied lore, 
That lov'd the light of song to pour ; 
A distant and a deadly shore 

Has Leyden's cold remains !" 

Note [G.] Page lxxii. 

That he was not unconscious of the peculiarities of his 
own character is evinced in the following passage of one 
of his letters to Dr. Robert Anderson : — 

" I often verge so nearly on absurdity, that I know it 
is perfectly easy to misconceive me, as well as misrepre- 
sent me." 



ODE TO PHANTASY. 



WRITTEN IN 1796. 



The following may be considered as a kind of 
sombrous Ode to Fancy, written during an attack 
of the ague. 



I. 

Avaunt the lark's clear thrilling note 
That warbles sweet through ether blue, 

While on the sloping sun-beam float 
Her waving pinions wet with dew ! 
Too dire the power whose sullen sway 
My torpid nerves and breast obey. — 



But, from the stump of withered oak, 

Let me hear the raven croak, 

And her sooty pinions flap 

At the night thunder's startling clap, 

As perch'd aloft she mutters hoarse 

O'er an infant's mangled corse ; 

When, drunk with blood, her sharp short scream 

Shall wake me from my wayward dream, 

To see the blood spontaneous flow 

Through the half-opened sod below. 

II. 

Avaunt the cheerful village throng, 

With all the sprightly sports of youth, 
The mazy dance, and maiden song ! 

Be mine to roam through wilds uncouth ; 

To talk by fits at dusky eve 

With Echo in her rock-hewn cave, 

And see the fairy people glide 

Down the cavern's rugged side ; 

Or dive into the wood profound, 

Where red leaves rustle strangely round ; 

Where through the leaf-embowered way, 

The star-light sheds a sickly ray. — 



And then the dead-man's lamp I spy, 
As twinkling blue it passes by, 
Soon followed by the sable pall, 
And pomp of shadowy funeral. # 

III. 

Beside yon hoary shapeless cairn, 

That points the shepherd's lonely path, 

Mantled with frizly withered fern, 
And skirted by the blasted heath ; — 
By the slow muddy streams which lave 
The suicide's unhallowed grave, 
Where flaunts around in loose array, 
The withered grass that looks so gray; 
Whence aloof the travellers go, 
And curse the wretch that lies below ; — ■ 
I'll sit at midnight's fearful hour, 
When the wan April moon has power, 

* In some parts of Scotland, where superstitious terrors still 
maintain their influence, at or near the time of a person's 
death, (for the ghost seers are not agreed,) a glimmering light 
is supposed to proceed from his house to the place of inter- 
ment, tracing exactly the course of the funeral procession. 
This light is sometimes accompanied with the ghostly repre- 
sentation of a bier. 

B 2 



4 



Poring o'er a mossy skull, 
Till my blue swollen eyes be dull ; 
While the unsheeted spectre loud 
Bewails his interdicted shroud. * 



IV. 

When wintry thaws impel the wave 
Beyond the channel's pebbled bounds, 

And hoarse the red-gorg'd rivers rave, 
To mine their arching icy mounds ; 
Though they rush against the shore, 
Waves successive tumbling o'er; 
While clouds like low-brow'd mountains lower, 
And pour the chilling sleety shower : — 
Then let me by the torrent roam 
At night to watch the churning foam. 
And then a wailing voice I hear 
By solemn pauses strike the ear 
A river-wreck'd unhappy ghost 
Shrieks doleful, " Lost, for ever lost !" 

* The spirits of suicides are supposed to have a particular 
predilection for restless wandering, to which uneasy disposition 
the want of a shroud, (from the custom of burying such persons 
in their own cloaths,) contributes not a little. 



And the rocky banks around 
Echo back the dreary sound. 



V. 



But on St. John's mysterious night, 
Sacred to many a wizard spell, 

The time when first to human sight 
Confest the mystic fern-seed fell ; 
Beside the sloe's black knotted thorn, 
What hour the Baptist stern was born — 
That hour when heaven's breath is still, — 
I'll seek the shaggy fern-clad hill, 
Where time has delv'd a dreary dell, 
Befitting best a hermit's cell ; 
And watch 'mid murmurs muttering stern, 
The seed departing from the fern, 
Ere wakeful demons can convey 
The wonder-working charm away, 
And tempt the blows from arm unseen, 
Should thoughts unholy intervene. * 

* The watching the fern-seed, on St. John's night, which 
seed was supposed first to have become visible at the hour 
when John the Baptist was born, was long a favourite practice 
among pretenders to sorcery, who likewise supposed a person 
might have a combat with the devil, and receive blows from 
an invisible arm. — Vide Jackson's Magical practices* 
B 3 



VI. 

Or let me watch the live-long night 
By some dark murderer's bed of death, 

Whose secret crimes his soul affright, 
And clog his sighs and parting breath. 
Pale-sheeted spectres seem to rise 
Before his fix'd and glaring eyes, 
That dimly glance with stone-set stare, 
The rueful hue of black despair. 
A death-head slowly to his view 
Presents its withering grisly hue, 
And grins a smile with aspect grim — 
Cold horror thrills his every limb, 
His half-form'd accents die away, 
And scarce the glimmering sense convey z 
He owns the justice of his doom, 
And muttering sinks to endless gloom. 

VII. 

Or, in some haunted Gothic hall 

Whose roof is moulder'd, damp, and hoar, 
Where figur'd tapestry shrouds the wall, 

And murder oft has dy'd the floor ; 



With frantic fancies sore opprest, 
My weary eyes shall sink to rest — 
When, sudden from my slumbers weak 
Arous'd in wild affright I break ; 
A death-cold hand shall slowly sleek 
With icy touch my shuddering cheek. 
Soft as the whispers of the gale, 
Forth steals an infant's feeble wail, 
From some far corner of the dome, 
Approaching still my haunted room ; 
A spirit then seems the floor to trace, 
With hollow-sounding, measur'd pace. — 

VIII. 

I heard it ! Yes ; no earthly call ! 
Repeated thrice in dismal tone ; 

And still along the echoing wall 

Resounds the deep continuous moan ; 
Responsive to my throbbing heart, 
Stung with fear's incessant smart, 
How creeps my blood in every vein, 
While desperate works my maddening brain- 
See there ! where vibrates on my view 
That visage grim of ashen hue ; 
b 4 



8 



Glaring eyes that roll so red, 
Starting from the straining lid ; 
At each horrid death-set stare 
He bristles up his hoary hair, 
And shows his locks so thin and few, 
Dropping wet with crimson dew* — 



A 

IX. 



Hence fleets the form, while hush'd,the sound 
'Tis past — till sleep resumes her reign. 

But soon as wakeful sense is drown'd 
Fantastic visions rise again. 
Then borne on tempest wings I go 
O'er the deep that foams below : 
In whirling eddies raves the tide, 
While piping winds its thunders chide* 
The mass of waters heaves on high, 
Till surging billows dash the sky ; 
White they burst around my ear, 
Down the west they bear me far, 
Far beyond the setting sun, 
Where ever brood the shadows dun, 
Where bends the welkin to the wave* 
And ocean's utmost waters lave 



X. 

The eddying winds along the shore 
Clash rudely with opposing rage 

Where never mortal touch'd before, 
Save the far-wandering Grecian sage. 
By ocean's hoar-fermenting foam, 
Darkly lowers the airy dome ; 
By brown substantial darkness wall'd 
Whence <bold Ulysses shrunk appall'd ; 
Where ghosts, half seen by glances dim, 
With shadowy feet the pavement skim. 
But soon the feeble-shrieking dead 
Are scatter'd by the Gorgon's head ; 
Whose withering look, so wan and cold, 
No frame can bear of mortal mould ; 
While snaky wreaths of living hair, 
With crests red-curling, writhe in air. 



XL 

Anon, with sound confus'd and shrill, 
The thin embodied forms decay ; 

And, like the gray mist of the hill, 
The airy mansion fleets away. — * 



10 



When Phantasy transports the scene, 
Where glows the starry sky serene ; 
And then I seem in wild vagary, 
Roving with the restless fairy ; 
Round and round the turning sphere, 
To chase the moon-beam glancing cleaiv 
Where ocean's oozy arms extend, 
There our gliding course we bend ; 
Our right feet brush the billows hoar, 
Our left imprint the sandy shore ; 
While mermaids comb their sea-green locks- 
By moonlight on the shelving rocks. 

XII. 

But while these scenes I pleas'd survey, 
They vanish slow with giddy hum, 

And visions rise, of dire dismay, 

That Fancy's plastic power benumb. 
The last dread trumpet stuns the ear 
Which central nature groans to hear ; 
And seems to shrink with rueful throes, 
To see her ancient offspring's woes. — 
Quick start to life the astonish'd dead ; 
Old heroes heave the helmed head ; 



11 



Again the sons of war return ; 

No more their red-flam'd eye-balls burn ; 

While scroll-shrunk skies around them blaze, 

In mute despair around they gaze ; 

Then frightful shrieks the welkin rive — 

As I, with rapture, wake alive. — 

XIII. 

Avaunt ! ye empty notes of joy, 

Ye vain delusive sounds of mirth ; 
No pleasure's here without alloy, 

No room for happiness on earth. 

To calm my breast's impatient glow, 

Arise ye scenes of fancied woe ! 

That I may relish while they stay 

Such joys as quickly fleet away. 

And still let Phantasy renew 

Her antic groups of sombre hue, 
Where every unconnected scene 
Combines to rouse emotions keen, 
And far transcending judgment's law, 
Astounds the wondering breast with awe : — 
Till all this dream of life be o'er 
And I awake to sleep no more. 



12 



ON 

PARTING WITH A FRIEND 

ON A JOURNEY. 

WRITTEN IN 1797. 



As o'er the downs expanding silver-gray 

You pass, dear friend, your altered form I yiew 
Diminish'd to a shadow dim and blue, 
As oft I turn to gaze with fond delay. — 
Alas that youthful friendships thus decay ! 

While fame or fortune's dizzy heights we scale, 
Or through the mazy windings of the vale 
Of busy life pursue our separate way. — 
Too soon by nature's rigid laws we part, 
Too soon the moments of affection fly, 
Nor from the grave shall one responsive sigh 
Breathe soft to soothe the sad survivor's heart I 

Ah ! that when life's brief course so soon is o'er, 
We e'er should friendship's broken tie deplore. 



IS 



ON 

AN OLD MAN DYING FRIENDLESS. 

WRITTEN IN 1798. 



To thee, thou pallid form, o'er whose wan cheek 
The downy blossoms of the grave are shed ! 
To thee the crumbling earth and clay-cold bed 

Of joys supreme, instead of sorrows, speak. 

Deep in the silent grave thou soon shalt rest ; 

Nor e'er shalt hear beneath the ridgy mould 
The howling blast, in hollow murmurs cold, 

That sweeps by fits relentless o'er thy breast ! 

No warm eye glistens with the dewy tear 

For thee, no tongue that breathes to heaven the 

vow, 
No hand to wipe the death-drops from thy brow, 

No looks of love thy fainting soul to cheer ! 

Then go, forlorn ! to thee it must be sweet 
Thy long-lost friends beyond the grave to meet. 



14 



WRITTEN AT ST. ANDREWS, 

in 1798. 



Along the shelves that line Kibriven's shore 

I lingering pass, with steps well-pois'd and slow, 
Where brown the slippery wreaths of sea-weeds 
grow, 

And listen to the weltering ocean's roar. 

When o'er the crisping waves the sun-beams gleam, 
And from the hills the latest streaks of day 
Recede, by Eden's shadowy banks I stray, 

And lash the willows blue that fringe the stream ; 

And often to myself, in whispers weak, 

I breathe the name of some dear gentle maid ; 
Or some lov'd friend, whom in Edina's shade 

I left when forc'd these eastern shores to seek ! 
And for the distant months I sigh in vain 
To bring me to these favourite haunts again. 



15 



TO RUIN. 

WRITTEN IN 1798. 



Dire Power ! when closing autumn's hoary dews 
Clog the rank ambient air with fell disease, 
And yellow leaves hang shivering on the trees, 

My pensive fancy loves on thee to muse. 

Mountains, that once durst climb the azure sky, 

Proud waving woods, and vales expanding green, 
No trace display of what they once have been ; 

But deep beneath the world of waters lie. — 

Yet not the shaken earth, the lightning's blaze, 

When yawning gulfs wide peopled realms devour, 
But nature's secret all-destroying power 

With ceaseless torment on my spirit preys : 

While man's vain knowledge in his fleeting hour 

Serves but to show how fast himself decays. 



16 



MELANCHOLY. 

WRITTEN IN 1798. 



Where its blue pallid boughs the poplar rears 
I sit, to mark the passing riv'let's chime, 
And muse whence flows the silent stream of time; 
I And to what clime depart the winged years. 

In fancy's eye each scene of youth appears 
Bright as the setting sun's last purple gleam, 
Which streaks the mist that winds along the stream, 

Bathing the harebell with eve's dewy tears. 

Ah ! blissful days of youth, that ne'er again 
Revive, with scenes of every fairy hue, 
And sunny tints which fancy's pencil drew, 

Are you not false as hope's delusive train ? 
For, as your scenes to memory's view return, 
You ever point to a lov'd sister's urn. 



17 



TO THE YEW. 

WRITTEN IN 1799. 



When fortune smil'd, and nature's charms were new, 
I lov'd to see the oak majestic tower ; 
I lov'd to see the apple's painted flower, 

Bedropt with pencill'd tints of rosy hue. 

Now more I love thee, melancholy Yew, 

Whose still green leaves in solemn silence wave 
Above the peasant's red unhonour'd grave, 

Which oft thou moistenest with the morning dew. 

To thee the sad, to thee the weary fly ; 

They rest in peace beneath thy sacred gloom, 
Thou sole companion of the lowly tomb ! 

No leaves but thine in pity o'er them sigh. 

Lo ! now, to fancy's gaze, thou seem'st to spread 
Thy shadowy boughs to shroud me with the dead. 

/ 



18 



ODE, 

ADDRESSED TO MR. GEO. DYER, 

ON SCOTTISH SCENERY AND MANNERS. 

WRITTEN IN 1799. 



I. 

Dyer ! whom late on Lothian's daisied plains, 
We hail'd a pilgrim-bard, like minstrel old, 
(Such as our younger eyes no more behold, 

Though still remembered by the aged swains,) 

Sleeps thy shrill lyre where Cam's slow waters lave 
Her sedgy banks o'erhung with oziers blue ? 

Or does romantic Tweed's pellucid wave 
Still rise in fancy to the poet's view ? — 

Her moors, that oft have seen the hostile throng 
Of warriors mingle in encounter dire ; — 

Her meads, that oft have heard the shepherd's song 
Carol of youthful love's enchanting fire ; — 



19 



Lomond's proud mountains, where the summer snow, 
In faint blue wreaths, " congeals the lap of May;" - 

And Teviot's banks, where flowers of fairy blow, — 
Could'st thou with cold unraptur'd eye survey, 

Nor wake to bardish notes the bosom-thrilling lay ? 



II. 

What though by Selma's blazing oak no more 

The bards of Fingal wake the trembling string ; 

Still to the sea-breeze sad they nightly sing 
The dirge forlorn on ancient Morven's shore; 
And still, in every hazel-tangled dell, 

The hoary swain's traditionary lay 
Can point the place where Morven's heroes fell, 

And where their mossy tombs are crusted gray. 
The mountain rock, to shepherds only known, 

Retains the stamp of Fingal's giant heel ; 
The rough round crag, by rocking storms o'erthrown, 

The swain misdeems some ancient chariot wheel. 
On those brown steeps where the shy red deer play, 

And wanton roes, unscar'd by hunter, roam, 
Sat Morven's maids o'er the smooth dimpling bay, 

To see their barks, from Lochlin oaring home, 
Rush like the plunging whale through ocean's bursting 
foam. 

c 2 



20 



III. 



The heath, where once the venom-bristled boar 

Pierc'd by the spear of mighty Dermid fell — 

The martial youth secur'd by many a spell,* 
Who long in fight the shaggy goat-skin wore. 
Him, far in northern climes, a female bore 

Where the red heath slopes gradual to the main, 
Where boreal billows lash the latest shore, 

And murky night begins her sullen reign. 
So soft the purple glow his cheek could boast, 

It seem'd the spiky grass might grave a scar, 
Yet, foremost still of Fingal's victor host, 

He strode tremendous in the van of war. 
He sunk not till the doubtful field was won, 

Though life-blood steep'd his shaggy vest in gore, 
When, to a clime between the wind and sun, 

Him to his weird dame the heroes bore, 
Whose plastic arts did soon her valiant son restore. 



IV. 

The magic shores of Ketterin's silver lake, f 
Where shuddering beauty struggles tofbeguile 

* Alluding to the Gaelic legend of the Celtic Ladbrog. 
f Vide Scott's Glenfinlas. 



21 



The frown of horror to an awful smile, 
May well thy harp's sublimest strains awake. 
There the Green Sisters of the haunted heath 

Have strew'd with mangled limbs their frightful den ; 
And work with rending fangs the stranger's death, 

Who treads with lonely foot dark Finlas' glen. 
Lur'd from his wattled shiel on Ketterin's side, 

The youthful hunter trode the pathless brake, 
No pilot star, impetuous love his guide, 

But ne'er return'd to Ketterin's fatal lake. 
Still one remains his hapless fate to tell, 

The visionary chief of gifted eye, 
Wild on the wind he flings each potent spell, 

Which ill-starr'd mortals only hear to die — 
Far from his wizard notes the fell Green Sisters fly. 



c 3 



m 



LOVE. 

WRITTEN IN 1800. 



Sweet power of Love ! no idle fluttering boy 
Art thou, to flaunt with brilliant purple wing, 
And from thy bow, in merry mischief, fling 

The tiny shafts which mortal peace destroy. 

,r Tis thine the sickness of the soul to heal, 

When pines the lonely bosom, doom'd to know 
No dear associate of its joy or woe, 

Till, warm'd by thee, it learns again to feel. 

As the bright sun-beam bids the rose unrol 
Her scented leaves, that sleep in many a fold, 
Thou wak'st the heart from selfish slumbers cold, 

To all the generous softness of the soul. 

Ah doubly blest the heart that wakes to prove 
From some congenial breast the dear return of Love ! 



23 



WRITTEN IN THE ISLE OF SKY, 

in J 800. 



At eve, beside the ringlet's haunted green 
I linger oft, while o'er my lonely head 
The aged rowan hangs her berries red ; 

For there, of old, the merry elves were seen, 

Pacing with printless feet the dewy grass ; 
And there I view, in many a figur'd train, 
The marshalPd hordes of sea-birds leave the main, 

And o'er the dark-brown moors hoarse-shrieking pass. 

Next in prophetic pomp along the heath 

I see dim forms their shadowy bands arrange, 
Which seem to mingle in encounter strange, 

To work with glimmering blades the work of death : 
In fancy's eye their meteor falchions glare ; 
But, when I move, the hosts all melt in liquid air. 



c 4 



24, 

TO 

THE SETTING SUN. 

WRITTEN IN THE ISLE OF IONA, 
IN 1800. 



Fair light of heaven ! where is thy couch of rest ? 
That thy departing beams so sweetly smile : 
Thou sleepest calm in that green happy isle 

That rises mid the waters of the west. 

Sweet are thy tidings from the land of hills 
To spirits of the dead who round thee throng, 
And chaunt in concert shrill thine evening song, 

Whose magic sound the murmuring ocean stills : 

Calm is thy rest amid these fields so green, 

Where never breathes the deep heart-rending sigh, 
Nor tears of sorrow dim the sufferer's eye. — 

Then why revisit this unhappy scene, 

Like the lone lamp that lights the sullen tomb, 
To add new horrors to sepulchral gloom ? 



25 



SERENITY OF CHILDHOOD. 



In the sweet morn of life, when health and joy 
Laugh in the eye, and o'er each sunny plain 
A mild celestial softness seems to reign, 

Ah ! who could dream what woes the heart annoy ? 

No saddening sighs disturb the vernal gale 
Which fans the wild-wood music on the ear ; 
Unbath'd the sparkling eye with pity's tear, 

Save listening to the aged soldier's tale. 

The heart's slow grief, which wastes the child of woe, 
And lovely injur'd woman's cruel wrong, 
We hear not in the sky-lark's morning song, 

We hear not in the gales that o'er us blow. 
Visions devoid of woe which childhood drew, 
How oft shall my sad heart your soothing scenes 
renew ! 



26 



THE MEMORY OF THE PAST. 



Alas, that fancy's pencil still pourtrays 
A fairer scene than ever nature drew ! 
Alas, that ne'er to reason's placid view 

Arise the charms of youth's delusive days ! 

For still the memory of our tender years, 
By contrast vain, impairs our present joys ; 
Of greener fields we dream and purer skies, 

And softer tints than ever nature wears. — 

Lo ! now, to fancy, Teviot's vale appears 

Adorn'd with flowers of more enchanting hue 
And fajrer bloom than ever Eden knew, 

With all the charms that infancy endears. 

Dear scenes ! which grateful memory still employ, 
Why should you strive to blast the present joy ? 



n 



MACGREGOR. 

WRITTEN IN GLENORCHY, NEAR THE SCENE OF 
THE MASSACRE OF THE MACGREGORS. 



In the vale of Glenorchy the night-breeze was sighing 
O'er the tombs where the ancient Macgregors are tying : 
Green are their graves by their soft murm'ring river, 
But the name of Macgregor has perish'd for ever. — 
On a red stream of light, from his gray mountains 

glancing, 
The form of a spirit seem'd sternly advancing ; 
Slow o'er the heath of the dead was its motion, 
As the shadow of mist o'er the foam of the ocean ; 
Like the sound of a stream thro' the still evening dying. 
" Stranger, who tread'st where Macgregor is lying ! 
" Dar'st thou to walk unappall'd and firm-hearted 
" Midst the shadowy steps of the mighty departed ? — 
" See, round thee the cairns of the dead are disclosing 
" The shades that have long been in silence reposing ! 



28 



" Through their form dimly twinkles the moon-beam 

descending, 
" As their red eye of wrath on a stranger are bending. 
" Our gray stones of fame though the heath-blossoms 

cover, 
" Round the hills of our battles our spirits still hover ; 
" But dark are our forms by our blue native fountains, 
" For we ne'er see the streams running red from the 

mountains. 
" Our fame fades away like the foam of the river, 
" That shines in the sun ere it vanish for ever ; 
" And no maid hangs in tears of regret o'er the story, 
" When the minstrel relates the decline of our glory. 
" The hunter of red deer now ceases to number 
" The lonely gray stones on the fields of our slumber. 
" Fly stranger, and let not thine eye be reverted ! — 
" Ah ! why should'st thou see that our fame is departed ?" 



29 



THE ELFIN KING. 



— " Oh swift, and swifter far he speeds 

" Than earthly steed can run ; 
" But I hear not the feet of his courser fleet, 

" As he glides o'er the moorland dun." — 

Lone was the stralh where he cross'd their path, 

And wide did the heath extend. 
The Knight in Green on that moor is seen 

At every seven years' end. 

And swift is the speed of his coal-black steed, 

As the leaf before the gale, 
But never yet have that courser's feet 

Been heard on hill or dale. 



30 



But Xvoe to the wight who meets the Green Knight, 

Except on his faulchion arm 
Spell-proof he bear, like the brave St. Clair, 

The holy trefoil's charm ; 

For then shall fly his gifted eye 

Delusions false and dim ; 
And each unbless'd shade shall stand pourtray'd 

In ghostly form and limb. 

" Oh swift, and swifter far he speeds 

" Than earthly steed can run ; 
" He skims the blue air," said the brave St. Clair, 

" Instead of the heath so dun. 

" His locks are bright as the streamer's light, 

" His cheeks like the rose's hue ; 
" The Elfin- King, like the merlin's wing 

" Are his pinions of glossy blue." — 

— " No Elfin- King, with azure wing, 

" On the dark brown moor I see ; 
" But a courser keen, and a Knight in Green, 

" And full fair I ween is he. 



31 



" Nor Elfin-King, nor azure wing, 
" Nor ringlets sparkling bright ;" — 

Sir Geoffry cried, and forward hied 
To join the stranger Knight. 

He knew not the path of the lonely strath, 
Where the Elfin- King went his round ; 

Or he never had gone with the Green Knight on, 
Nor trod the charmed ground. 

How swift they flew ! no eye could view 

Their track on heath or hill ; 
Yet swift across both moor and moss, 

St. Clair did follow still. 

And soon was seen a circle green, 

Where a shadowy wassail crew 
Amid the ring did dance and sing, 

In weeds of watchet blue. 

And the windlestrae # , so limber and gray, 

Did shiver beneath the tread 
Of the coursers' feet, as they rush'd to meet 

The morrice of the dead. 

* Rye-grass. 



32 



— " Come here, come here, with thy green feere, 
" Before the bread be stale ; 

" To roundel dance with speed advance, 
" And taste our wassail ale." — 

Then up to the knight came a grizzly wight, 
And sounded in his ear, 

— " Sir knight, eschew this goblin crew, 
" Nor taste their ghostly cheer." — 

The tabors rung, the lilts were sung, 
And the knight the dance did lead ; 

But the maidens fair seem'd round him to stare 
With eyes like the glassy bead. 

The glance of their eye, so cold and so dry, 

Did almost his heart appal ; 
Their motion is swift, but their limbs they lift 

Like stony statues all. 

Again to the knight came the grizzly wight, 
When the roundel dance was o'er : 

— " Sir knight, eschew this goblin crew, 
" Or rue for evermore." — 



33 



But forward press'd the dauntless guest 

To the tables of ezlar red, 
And there was seen the Knight in Green, 

To grace the fair board head. 

And before that Knight was a goblet bright 

Of emerald smooth and green ; 
The fretted brim was studded full trim 

With mountain rubies sheen. 

Sir GeofFry the bold of the cup laid hold 

With heath-ale mantling o'er : 
And he saw as he drank that the ale never shrank, 

But mantled as before. 

Then Sir Geoffry grew pale as he quaff'd the ale, 

And cold as the corpse of clay ; 
And with horny beak the ravens did shriek, 

And fluttered o'er their prey. 

But soon throughout the revel rout 

A strange commotion ran, 
For beyond the round they heard the sound 

Of the steps of an uncharm'd man. 

D 



34 



And soon to St. Clair the grim wight did repair, 
From the midst of the wassail crew ; 

" Sir knight, beware of the revellers there, 
" Nor do as they bid thee do." — 

— " What woeful wight art thou" said the knight, 

" To haunt this wassail fray ?" — 
« — "I was once," quoth he, " a mortal like thee, 

" Though now I'm an Elfin gray. 

" And the knight so bold as a corpse lies cold, 

" Who trode the green-sward ring : 
" He must wander along with that restless throng, 

" For aye with the Elfin- King. 

" With the restless crew, in weeds so blue, 

" The hapless knight must wend ; 
" Nor ever be seen on haunted green, 

Till the weary seven years' end. 

" Fair is the mien of the Knight in Green, 

" And bright his sparkling hair ; 
" 'Tis hard to believe how malice can live 

" In the breast of aught so fair. 



35 



" And light and fair are the fields of air, 

" Where he wanders to and fro ; 
" Still doom'd to fleet from the regions of heat 

" To the realms of endless snow. 

" When high over head fall the streamers * red, 

" He views the blessed afar ; 
" And in stern despair darts through the air 

u To earth, like a falling star. 

« With the shadowy crew in weeds so blue 

" That knight for aye must run ; 
" Except thou succeed in a perilous deed, 

" Unseen by the holy sun. 

" Who ventures the deed and fails to succeed, 

" Perforce must join the crew." — 
— " Then brief declare," said the brave St. Clair, 

" A deed that a knight may do." « — 

" 'Mid the sleet and the rain thou must here remain^ 

" By the haunted green-sward ring, 
" Till the dance wax slow, and the song faint and low, 

" Which the crew unearthly sing. 

* Northern lights. 
D 2 



36 



" Then, right at the time of the matin chime, 
" Thou must tread the unhallow'd ground, 

" And with mystic pace the circles trace, 
" That inclose it, nine times round. 

" And next must thou pass the rank green grass 

" To the table of ezlar red ; 
< ( And the goblet clear away must thou bear, 

u Nor behind thee turn thy head. 

" And ever anon, as thou tread'st upon 
" The sward of the green charm'd ring, 

" Be no word express'd in that space unbless'd 
" That 'longeth of holy thing. 

" For the charmed ground is all unsound, 

" And the lake spreads wide below, 
" And the Water-Fiend there with the Fiend of Air 

" Is leagued for mortals' woe." — - 

Mid the sleet and the rain did St. Clair remain 

Till the evening star did rise ; 
And the rout so gay did dwindle away 

To the elritch dwarfy size. 



37 



When the moon-beams pale fell through the white hail, 

With a wan and a watery ray, 
Sad notes of woe seem'd round him to grow, 

The dirge of the Elfins gray. 

And right at the time of the matin chime 

His mystic pace began, 
And murmurs deep around him did creep, 

Like the moans of a murder'd man. 

The matin bell was tolling farewell, 

When he reach' d the central ring, 
And there he beheld to ice congeal'd 

That crew with the Elfin- King. 

For aye, at the knell of the matin bell, 
When the black monks wend to pray, 

The spirits unbless'd have a glimpse of rest 
Before the dawn of day. 

The sigh of the trees and the rush of the breeze 

Then pause on the lonely hill ; 
And the frost of the dead clings round their head. 

And they slumber cold and still. 
d 3 



38 



The knight took up the emerald cup, 

And the ravens hoarse did scream, 
And the shuddering Elfins half rose up, 

And murmur'd in their dream : 

They inwardly mourn'd, and the thin blood return'd 

To every icy limb ; 
And each frozen eye, so cold and so dry, 

'Gan roll with lustre dim. 

Then as brave St. Clair did turn him there, 

To retrace the mystic track ; 
He heard the sigh of his lady fair, 

Who sobbed behind his back. 

He started quick, and his heart beat thick, 

And he listen' d in wild amaze ; — 
But the parting bell on his ear it fell, — 

And he did not turn to gaze. 

With panting breast as he forward press'd, 

He trode on a mangled head ; 
And the skull did scream, and the voice did seem 

The voice of his mother dead. 



39 



He shuddering trode ; — On the great name of God 
He thought, — but he nought did say ; 

And the green-sward did shrink as about to sink, 
And loud laugh'd the Elfins gray. 

And loud did resound o'er the unbless'd ground 

The wings of the blue Elf-King ; 
And the ghostly crew to reach him flew ; — 

But he cross' d the charmed ring. 

The morning was gray, and dying away 

Was the sound of the matin bell ; 
And far to the west the Fays that ne'er rest 

Fled where the moon-beams fell. 

And Sir Geoffry the bold on the unhallow'd mold 

Arose from the green witch-grass ; 
And he felt his limbs like a dead man's cold, 
And he wist not where he was. 

And that cup so rare, which the brave St. Clair 

Did bear from the ghostly crew, 
Was suddenly chang'd from the emerald fair 

To the ragged whin stone blue ; 
And instead of the ale that mantled there, 

Was the murky midnight dew. 
d 4 



40 



SCOTTISH MUSIC, 

AN ODE. 



TO IANTHE. 



Again, sweet syren,! breathe again 
That deep, pathetic, powerful strain ! 

Whose melting tones of tender woe 
Fall soft as evening's summer dew, 
That bathes the pinks and harebells blue 

Which in the vales of Tiviot blow. 

Such was the song that sooth'd to rest, 
Far in the green isle of the west, * 

The Celtic warrior's parted shade : 
Such are the lonely sounds that sweep 
O'er the blue bosom of the deep, 

Where ship-wreck'd mariners are laid. 

* The FlathinniSy or Celtic paradise. 



41 



Ah ! sure, as Hindu legends tell, * 
When music's tones the bosom swell, 

The scenes of former life return ; 
Ere, sunk beneath the morning star, 
We left our parent climes afar, 

Immur'd in mortal forms to mourn. 

Or if, as ancient sages ween, 
Departed spirits half unseen 

Can mingle with the mortal throng ; 
'Tis when from heart to heart we roll 
The deep-ton'd music of the soul, 

That warbles in our Scottish song. 

I hear, I hear, with awful dread, 
The plaintive music of the dead ! 

They leave the amber fields of day : 
Soft as the cadence of the wave, 
That murmurs round the mermaid's grave, 

They mingle in the magic lay. 



* The effect of music is explained by the Hindus, as recalling to 
our memory the airs of paradise, heard in a state of pre-existenjce. 
— Vide Sacontala. 



42 



Sweet syren, breathe the powerful strain ! 
Lochroyan's Damsel * sails the main ; 

The crystal tower enchanted see ! 
" Now break," she cries " ye fairy charms 
As round she sails with fond alarms, 

" Now break, and set my true love free !' 

Lord Barnard is to greenwood gone, 
Where fair Gil Morrice sits alone, 

And careless combs his yellow hair. 
Ah ! mourn the youth, untimely slain ! 
The meanest of Lord Barnard's train 

The hunter's mangled head must bear. 

Or, change these notes of deep despair 
For love's more soothing tender air ; 

Sing how, beneath the greenwood tree, 
Brown Adam's j- love maintain'd her truth, 
Nor would resign the exil'd youth 

For any knight the fair could see. 



* The Lass of Lochroyan. 

f See the ballad entitled, Brown Adam. 



43 



And sing the Hawk of pinion gray, * 
To southern climes who wing'd his way, 

For he could speak as well as fly ; 
Her brethren how the fair beguil'd, 
And on her Scottish lover smil'd, 

As slow she rais'd her languid eye. 

Fair was her cheek's carnation glow, 
Like red blood on a wreath of snow ; 

Like evening's dewy star her eye ; 
White as the sea-mew's downy breast, 
Borne on the surge's foamy crest, 

Her graceful bosom heav'd the sigh. 

In youth's first morn, alert and gay, 
Ere rolling years had pass'd away, 

Remember'd like a morning dream, 
I heard these dulcet measures float 
In many a liquid winding note 

Along the banks of Teviot's stream. 

Sweet sounds ! that oft have sooth'd to rest 
The sorrows of my guileless breast, 

* See the Gray Goss Hawk. 



44 



And charm'd away mine infant tears: 
Fond memory shall your strains repeat, 
Like distant echoes, doubly sweet, 

That in the wild the traveller hears. 

And thus, the exil'd Scotian maid, 
By fond alluring love betray'd 

To visit Syria's date-crown'd shore, 
In plaintive strains that sooth'd despair 
Did " Bothwell's banks that bloom so fair," * 

And scenes of early youth, deplore. 

* " So fell it out of late years, that an English gentleman, tra- 
velling in Palestine, not far from Jerusalem, as he passed through 
a country town, he heard by chance a woman sitting at her door, 
dandling her child, to sing, Bothwel bank, thou blumest fair. The 
gentleman hereat exceedingly wondered, and forthwith in English 
saluted the woman, who joyfully answered him ; and said, she was 
right glad there to see a gentleman of our isle ; and told him that 
she was a Scottish woman, and came first from Scotland to Venice, 
and from Venice thither, where her fortune was to be the wife of an 
officer under the Turk ; who, being at that instant absent, and very 
soon to return, she entreated the gentleman to stay there until his 
return. The which he did; and she, for country sake, to show 
herself the more kind and bountiful unto him, told her husband at 
his home-coming that the gentleman was her kinsman ; whereupon 
her husband entertained him very friendly ; and at his departure 
gave him divers things of good value." — Verstegan's Restitution of 
Decayed Intelligence. Chap. Of the Surnames of our Ancient Fa- 
milies, p. 296. Antwerp, 1605. 



45 



Soft syren ! whose enchanting strain 
Floats wildly round my raptur'd brain, 

I bid your pleasing haunts adieu ! 
Yet, fabling fancy oft shall lead 
My footsteps to the silver Tweed, 

Through scenes that I no more must view. 



46 



ODE 

ON VISITING FLODDEN. 



Green Flodden, on thy blood-stain'd head 
Descend no rain nor vernal dew ! 

But still, thou charnel of the dead, 

May whitening bones thy surface strew ! 

Soon as I tread thy rush-clad vale, 

Wild fancy feels the clasping mail ; 
The rancour of a thousand years 

Glows in my breast ; again I burn 

To see the banner'd pomp of war return, 
And mark beneath the moon the silver light of spears. 

Lo ! bursting from their common tomb, 

The spirits of the ancient dead 
Dimly streak the parted gloom, 

With awful faces, ghastly red ; 
As once around their martial king 
They clos'd the death-devoted ring, 



*7 



With dauntless hearts, unknown to yield ; 
In slow procession round the pile 
Of heaving corses moves each shadowy file, 

And chaunts in solemn strain the dirge of Flodden field. 

What youth, of graceful form and mien, 

Foremost leads the spectred brave, 
While o'er his mantle's folds of green 
His amber locks redundant wave ? 
When slow returns the fated day, 
That view'd their chieftain's long array, 
Wild to the harp's deep, plaintive string, 
The virgins raise the funeral strain, 
From Ord's black mountain to the northern main, 
And mourn the emerald hue which paints the vest of 
spring. * 



* Under the vigorous administration of James IV., the young earl 
of Caithness incurred the penalty of outlawry and forfeiture, for 
revenging an ancient feud. On the evening preceding the battle 
of Flodden, accompanied by 300 young warriors, arrayed in green, 
he presented himself before the king, and submitted to his mercy. 
This mark of attachment was so agreeable to that warlike prince, 
that he granted an immunity to the earl and all his followers. The 
parchment, on which this immunity was inscribed, is said to be still 
preserved in the archives of the earls of Caithness, and is marked 
with the drum-strings, having been cut out of a drum-head, as no 
other parchment could be found in the army. The earl, and his 



48 



Alas ! that Scottish maid should sing 
The combat where her lover fell ! 

That Scottish bard should wake the string, 
The triumph of our foes to tell ! 

Yet Teviot's sons, with high disdain, 

Have kindled at the thrilling strain 
That mourn'd their martial fathers' bier ; 

And, at the sacred font, the priest 

Through ages left the master-hand unblest, * 
To urge with keener aim the blood-encrusted spear. 



gallant band, perished to a man in the battle of Flodden; since 
which period, it has been reckoned unlucky in Caithness to wear 
green, or cross the Ord on a Monday, the day of the week on which 
the chieftain advanced into Sutherland. 

* In the border counties of Scotland, it was formerly customary, 
when any rancourous enmity subsisted between two clans, to leave 
the right hand of male children unchristened, that it might deal the 
more deadly, or according to the popular phrase, " unhallowed" 
blows, to their enemies. By this superstitious rite, they were de- 
voted to bear the family feud, or enmity. The same practice sub- 
sisted in Ireland, as appears from the following passage in Campion's 
History of Ireland, published in 1633. " In some corners of 
" the land they used a damnable superstition, leaving the right 
<* armes of their infants, males, unchristened, (as they termed it,) 
** to the end it might give a more ungracious and deadly blow." 
P. 15. 



49 



Red Flodden ! when thy plaintive strain 
In early youth rose soft and sweet, 

My life-blood through each throbbing vein 
With wild tumultuous passion beat. 

And oft, in fancied might, I trode 

The spear-strewn path to fame's abode, 
Encircled with a sanguine flood ; 

And thought I heard the mingling hum, 

When, croaking hoarse, the birds of carrion come 
Afar on rustling wing to feast on English blood. 

Rude border chiefs, of mighty name 

And iron soul, who sternly tore 
The blossoms from the tree of fame, 

And purpled deep their tints with gore, 
Rush from brown ruins scarr'd with age, 
That frown o'er haunted Hermitage ; 
Where, long by spells mysterious bound, 
They pace their round with lifeless smile, 
And shake with restless foot the guilty pile, 
Till sink the mouldering towers beneath the burden'd 
ground. * 



* Popular superstition in Scotland still retains so formidable an 
idea of the guilt of blood, that those ancient edifices or castles? 
where enormous crimes have been committed, are supposed to sink 

E 



50 



Shades of the dead, on Alfer's plain 

Who scorn'd with backward step to move, 

But, struggling 'mid the hills of slain, 
Against the Sacred Standard strove ; * 

Amid the lanes of war I trace 

Each broad claymore and ponderous mace ! 



gradually into the ground. With regard to the castle of Hermitage, 
in particular, the common people believe, that thirty feet of the 
walls sunk, thirty feet fell, and thirty feet remain standing. 

* The fatal battle of the Standard was fought on Cowton Moor, 
near Northallerton (A. S. Ealfertun,) in Yorkshire, 1138. David I. 
commanded the Scottish army. He was opposed by Thurston, 
archbishop of York, who, to animate his followers, had recourse 
to the impressions of religious enthusiasm. The mast of a ship 
was fitted into the perch of a four-wheeled carriage; on its top was 
placed a little casket, containing a consecrated host. It also con- 
tained the banner of St. Cuthbert, round which were displayed those 
of St. Peter of York, St. John of Beverley, and St. Wilfred of Rip- 
pon. This was the English standard, and was stationed in the 
centre of the army. Prince Henry, son of David, at the head of 
the men of arms, chiefly from Cumberland and Teviotdale, charged, 
broke, and completely dispersed the centre ; but unfortunately was 
not supported by the other divisions of the Scottish army. The 
expression of Aldred, (p. 345,) describing this encounter, is more 
spirited than the general tenor of monkish historians; — " Ipsa 
globi australis parte, instar cassis aranecc, dissijiata" — that division 
of the phalanx was dispersed like a cobweb. 



51 



Where'er the surge of arms is tost, 
Your glittering spears, in close array, 
Sweep, like the spider's filmy web, away 

The flower of Norman pride, and England's victor host ! 

But distant fleets each warrior ghost, 
With surly sounds that murmur far : 

Such sounds were heard when Syria's host 
Roll'd from the walls of proud Samar. 

Around my solitary head 

Gleam the blue lightnings of the dead, 
While murmur low the shadowy band — 

" Lament no more the warrior's doom ! 

" Blood, blood alone, should dew the hero's tomb, 
" Who falls, 'mid circling spears, to save his native land." 



e 2 



52 



LORD SOULIS. 



1 he subject of the following ballad is a popular tale of the 
Scottish borders. It refers to transactions of a period so 
important, as to have left an indelible impression on the 
popular mind, and almost to have effaced the traditions of 
earlier times. The fame of Arthur and the Knights of the 
Round Table, always more illustrious among the Scottish 
borderers, from their Welch origin, than Fin Maccoul and 
Gow Macmorne, who seem not however to have been 
totally unknown, yielded gradually to the renown of Wal- 
lace, Bruce, Douglas, and the other patriots, who so nobly 
asserted the liberty of their country. Beyond that period, 
numerous, but obscure and varying legends, refer to the 
marvellous Merlin, or Myrrdin the Wild, and Michael Scot, 
both magicians of notorious fame. In this instance the en- 
chanters have triumphed over the true man. But the charge 
of magic was transferred from the ancient sorcerers to the 
objects of popular resentment of every age ; and the par- 
tizans of the Baliols, the abettors of the English faction, and 
the enemies of the protestant and of the presbyterian re- 
formation, have been indiscriminately stigmatized as necro- 
mancers and warlocks. Thus, Lord Soulis, Archbishop 
Sharp, Grierson of Lagg, and Graham of Claver-house, 
Viscount Dundee, receive from tradition the same super- 



53 



natural attributes. According to Dalrymple*, the family 
of Soulis seem to have been powerful during the contest 
between Bruce and Baliol ; for adhering to the latter of 
whom they incurred forfeiture. Their power extended over 
the south and west marches ; and near Deadrigs f, in the 
parish of Eccles, in the east marches, their family bearings 
still appear on an obelisk. William de Soulis, Justiciarius 
Laodonias, in 1281, subscribed the famous obligation, by 
which the nobility of Scotland bound themselves to ac- 
knowlege the sovereignty of the Maid of Norway, and her 
descendants. Rymer, Tom. II. pp.266, 279; and in 1291, 
Nicholas de Soulis appears as a competitor for the crown 
of Scotland, which he claimed as the heir of Margery, a 
bastard daughter of Alexander II., and wife of Allan Dur- 
ward, or Chuissier. — Carte, p. 177. Dalrymple'* Annals, 
vol.i. p. 203. 

But their power was not confined to the marches ; for 
the barony of Saltoun, in the shire of Haddington, derived 
its name from the family ; being designed Soulistoun, in a 
charter to the predecessors of Nevoy of that ilk, seen by 
Dalrymple ; and the same frequently appears among those 
of the benefactors and witnesses in the chartularies of 
abbeys, particularly in that of Newbottle. Ranulphus de 
Soulis occurs as a witness in a charter, granted by king 
David, of the teinds of Stirling ; and he, or one of his suc- 
cessors, had afterwards the appellation of Pincerna Regis. 

The hero of tradition seems to be William Lord 
Soullis, whose name occurs so frequently in the list of 

* Dalrymple's Collection concerning the Scottish History, p. 395. 
f Transactions of the Antiquarian Society of Scotland, vol.i. p 269- 
E 3 



54 



forfeitures ; by which he appears to have possessed the whole 
district of Liddesdale, with Westerkirk and Kirkandrews, 
in Dumfries-shire, the lands of Gilmertoun near Edinburgh 
and the rich baronies of Nisbet, Longnewton, Caverton, 
Maxtoun, and Mertoun, in Roxburghshire. He was of royal 
descent, being the grandson of Nicholas de Soulis, who 
claimed the crown of Scotland, in right of his grandmother, 
daughter to Alexander II. ; and who, could her legitimacy 
have been ascertained, must have excluded the other com- 
petitors. The elder brother of William was John de Soulis, 
a gallant warrior, warmly attached to the interests of his 
country, who, with fifty borderers, defeated and made pri- 
soner Sir Andrew Harclay, at the head of three hundred 
Englishmen ; and was himself slain fighting in the cause of 
Edward the Bruce, at the battle of Dundalk in Ireland, 
1318. He had been joint-warden of the kingdom with John 
Cummin, after the abdication of the immortal Wallace, in 
1300 ; in which character he was recognised by John Baliol, 
who, in a charter granted after his dethronement, and dated 
at Rutherglen, in the ninth year of his reign, (1302,) styles 
him " Custos regni nostril The treason of William, his suc- 
cessor, occasioned the downfall of the family. This power- 
ful baron entered into a conspiracy against Robert the Bruce, 
in which many persons of rank were engaged. The object, 
according to Barbour, was to elevate Lord Soulis to the 
Scottish throne. The plot was discovered by the countess 
of Strathern. Lord Soulis was seized at Berwick, although 
he was attended, says Barbour, bv three hundred and sixty 
squires, besides many gallant knights. Having confessed 
his guilt in full parliament, his life was spared by the king ; 



55 



but his domains were forfeited^ and he himself confined in 
the castle of Dumbarton, where he died. Many of his ac- 
complices were executed ; among others, the gallant David 
de Brechin, nephew to the king, whose sole crime was 
having concealed the treason in which he disdained to par- 
ticipate. * The parliament, in which so much noble blood 
was shed, was long remembered by the name of the Black 
Parliament. It was held in the year 1320. 

From this period the family of Soulis makes no figure in 
our annals. Local tradition, however, more faithful to the 
popular sentiment than history, has recorded the character 
of their chief, and attributed to him many actions which 
seem to correspond with that character. His portrait is by 
no means flattering ; uniting every quality which could ren- 
der strength formidable, and cruelty detestable. Combining 
prodigious bodily strength with cruelty, avarice, dissimula- 
tion, and treachery, is it surprising that a people, who at- 
tributed every event of life, in a great measure, to the 
interference of good or evil spirits, should have added to 
such a character the mystical horrors of sorcery ? Thus, he 

* As the people thronged to the execution of the gallant youth, they were 
bitterly rebuked by Sir Ingram de Umfraville, an English or Norman knight, 
then a favourite follower of Robert Bruce. i( Why press you," said he, " to 
«' see the dismal catastrophe of so generous a knight ? I have seen ye throng as 
" eagerly around him to share his bounty, as now to behold his death." With 
these words he turned from the scene of blood, and repairing to the king, craved 
leave to sell his Scottish possessions, and to retire from the country. " My 
heart," said Umfraville, " will not, for the wealth of the world, permit me 
t* to dwell any longer, where I have seen such a knight die by the hands of 
" the executioner." With the king's leave, he interred the body of David de 
Brechin, sold his lands, and left Scotland for ever. The story is beautifully told 
by Barbour, book 1 9th. 

E 4 



is represented as a cruel tyrant and sorcerer; constantly 
employed in oppressing his vassals, harassing his neighbours, 
and fortifying his castle of Hermitage against the king of 
Scotland ; for which purpose he employed all means, human 
and infernal ; invoking the fiends by his incantations, and 
forcing his vassals to drag materials, like beasts of burden* 
Tradition proceeds to relate, that the Scottish king, irritated 
by reiterated complaints, peevishly exclaimed to the peti- 
tioners, " Boil him if you please, but let me hear no more 
of him." Satisfied with this answer, they proceeded with 
the utmost haste to execute the commission ; which they 
accomplished, by boiling him alive on the Nine-stane Rig, 
in a cauldron, said to have been long preserved at Skelf-hill, 
a hamlet betwixt Hawick and the Hermitage. Messengers, 
it is said, were immediately dispatched by the king, to pre- 
vent the effects of such a hasty declaration ; but they only 
arrived in time to witness the conclusion of the ceremony. 
The castle of Hermitage, unable to support the load of 
iniquity, which had been long accumulating within its walls, 
is supposed to have partly sunk beneath the ground ; and 
its ruins are still regarded by the peasants with peculiar 
aversion and terror. The door of the chamber, where Lord 
Soulis is said to have held his conferences with the evil 
spirits, is supposed to be opened once in seven years by 
that demon, to which, when he left the castle, never to 
return, he committed the keys, by throwing them over his 
left shoulder, and desiring it to keep them till his return. 
Into this chamber, which is really the dungeon of the castle, 
the peasant is afraid to look ; for such is the active malignity 
of its inmate, that a willow, inserted at the chinks of the 



57 



door, is found peeled or stripped of its bark when drawn 
back. The Nine-stane Rig, where Lord Soulis was boiled, 
is a declivity about one mile in breadth, and four in length, 
descending upon the water of Hermitage, from the range of 
hills which separate Liddesdale and Teviotdale. It derives 
its name from one of those circles of large stones, which are 
termed Druidical, nine of which remained to a late period. 
Five of these stones are still visible; and two are parti- 
cularly pointed out, as those which supported the iron bar, 
upon which the fatal cauldron was suspended. 

The formation of ropes of sand, according to popular tra- 
dition, was a work of such difficulty, that it was assigned by 
Michael Scot to a number of spirits, for which it was ne- 
cessary for him to find some interminable employment. 
Upon discovering the futility of their attempts to accomplish 
the work assigned, they petitioned their task-master to be 
allowed to mingle a few handfuls of barley-chaff with the 
sand. On his refusal, they were forced to leave untwisted 
the ropes which they had shaped. Such is the traditionary 
hypothesis of the vermicular ridges of the sand on the shore 
of the sea. 

Redcap is a popular appellation of that class of spirits 
which haunt old castles. Every ruined tower in the south 
of Scotland is supposed to have an inhabitant of this species. 



58 



LORD SOULIS. 



Lord Soulis he sat in Hermitage castle, 

And beside him Old Redcap sly : — 
" Now tell me, thou sprite, who art meikle of might, 

" The death that I must die !" 

<; While thou shalt bear a charmed life, 

" And hold that life of me, 
" 'Gainst lance and arrow, sword and knife, 

" 1 shall thy warrant be. 

c< Nor forged steel, nor hempen band, 

" Shall e'er thy limbs confine, 
" Till threefold ropes of sifted sand 

" Around thy body twine. 

" If danger press fast, knock thrioe on the chest 

" With rusty padlocks bound ; 
" Turn away your eyes when the lid shall rise, 

" And listen to the sound." 



59 



Lord Senilis he sat in Hermitage castle, 

And Redcap was not by ; 
And he called on a page who was witty and sage, 

To go to the barmkin high. 

" And look thou east, and look thou west, 

" And quickly come tell to me, 
" What troopers haste along the waste, 

" And what may their livery be." 

He looked o'er fell, and he looked o'er flat, 

But nothing, I wist, he saw, 
Save a pyot on a turret that sat 

Beside a corby craw. 

The page he look'd at the skriek * of day, 

But nothing, I wist, he saw, 
Till a horseman gray in the royal array 

Rode down the Hazel-shaw. 

" Say, why do you cross o'er moor and moss ?" 

So loudly cried the page : 
" I tidings bring from Scotland's king, 

" To Soulis of Hermitage. 

* Skriek — Peep. 



60 



" He bids mc tell that bloody warden, 

" Oppressor of low and high, 
" If ever again his lieges complain, 

w The cruel Soulis shall die." 

By traitorous sleight they seized the knight, 

Before he rode or ran, 
And through the key-stone of the vault 

They plunged him horse and man. 



O May she came, and May she gaed, 

By Goranberry green ; 
And May she was the fairest maid 

That ever yet was seen. 

O May she came, and May she gaed, 

By Goranberry tower ; 
And who was it but cruel Lord Soulis 

That carried her from her bower ? 






61 



He brought her to his castle gray, 

By Hermitage's side ; 
Says — " Be content, my lovely May, 

" For thou shalt be my bride." 

With her yellow hair that glittered fair 

She dried the trickling tear ; 
She sigh'd the name of Branxholm's heir, 

The youth that lov'd her dear. 

" Now be content, my bonny May, 

" And take it for your hame ; 
" Or ever and aye shall ye rue the day 

" You heard young Branxholm's name. 

" O'er Branxholm tower, ere the morning hour, 
" When the lift * is like lead so blue, 

" The smoke shall roll white on the weary night, 
" And the flame shine dimly through." 

Syne he's ca'd on him Ringan Red ; 

A sturdy kemp was he, 
From friend or foe in border feid 

Who never a foot would flee. 

* Lift — Sky. 



62 



Red Ringan sped and the spearmen led 

Up Goranberry slack ; 
Aye, many a wight unmatch'd in fight, 

Who never more came back. 

And bloody set the westering sun, 

And bloody rose he up ; 
But little thought young Branxholm's heir 

Where he that night should sup. 

He shot the roe-buck on the lee, 

The dun deer on the law ; 
The glamour * sure was in his e'e, 

When Ringan nigh did draw. 

O'er heathy edge, through rustling sedge, 

He sped till day was set ; 
And he thought it was his merry men true, 

When he the spearmen met. 

Far from relief they seiz'd the chief; 

His men were far away ; 
Through Hermitage slack they sent him back 

To Soulis' castle gray; 
Syne onward fure for Branxholm tower, 

Where all his merry men lay. 

* Glamour — Magical delusion. 



63 



" Now, welcome, noble Branxholm's heir 
" Thrice welcome," quoth Soulis to me ! 

" Say, dost thou repair to my castle fair, 
" My wedding guest to be ? 

" And lovely May deserves, per fay, 
" A brideman such as thee !" 

And broad and bloody rose the sun, 

And on the barmkin shone ; 
When the page was aware of Red Ringan there, 

Who came riding all alone. 

To the gate of the tower Lord Soulis he speeds, 

As he lighted at the wall, 
Says — " Where did ye stable my stalwart steeds, 

" And where do they tarry all ?" 

" We stabled them sure on the Tarras muir 
" We stabled them sure," quoth he : 

" Before we could cross that quaking moss, 
" They all were lost but me." 

He clenched his fist, and he knock'd on the chest, 

And he heard a stifled groan ; 
And at the third knock, each rusty lock 

Did open one by one. 



64 



He turn'd away his eyes, as the lid did rise, 

And he listened silently ; 
And he heard, breathed slow in murmurs low, 

" Beware of a coming tree !" 

In muttering sound the rest was drown'd ; 

No other word heard he ; 
But slow as it rose the lid did close, 

With the rusty padlocks three. 



Think not but Soulis was wae to yield 
His warlock chamber o'er ; 

He took the keys from the rusty lock, 
That never were ta'en before. 



He threw them o'er his left shoulder, 
With meikle care and pain ; 

And he bade it keep them fathoms deep, 
Till he return'd again. 



() 



And still, when seven years are o'er, 

Is heard the jarring sound; 
When slowly opes the charmed door 

Of the chamber under ground. 

And some within the chamber door 

Have cast a curious eye ; 
But none dare tell, for the spirits in hell, 

The fearful sights they spy. 



When Soulis thought on his merry men now, 

A woeful wight was he ; 
Says — " Vengeance is mine, and I will not repine 

" But Branxholm's heir shall die." 

Says — " What would you do, young Branxholm, 
" Gin ye had me, as I have thee ?" — 

" I would take you to the good greenwood, 
" And gar your ain hand wale * the tree." 

* Wale — Chuse. 



66 



" Now shall thine ain hand wale the tree, 
« " For all thy mirth and meikle pride ; 
"And May shall chuse, if my love she refuse, 
" A scrog bush thee beside." 

They carried him to the good greenwood, 
Where the green pines grew in a row ; 

And they heard the cry from the branches high 
Of the hungry carrion-crow. 

They carried him on from tree to tree, 

The spiry boughs below. 
" Say, shall it be thine on the tapering pine 

" To feed the hooded crow ?" — 

" The fir-tops fall by Branxholm wall, 
" When the night blast stirs the tree; 

" And it shall not be mine to die on the pine, 
" I loved in infancie." 

Young Branxholm turn'd him, and oft looked back, 
And aye he passed from tree to tree ; 

Young Branxholm peeped, and puirly * spake, 
" O sic a death is no for me !" 

* Puirly — Softly. 



67 



And next they passed the aspin gray, 
Its leaves were rustling mournfiillie ; 

" Now, chuse thee, chuse thee, Branxholm gay ! 
u Say, wilt thou never chuse the tree ?" — 

" More dear to me is the aspin gray, 

" More dear than any other tree ; 
" For beneath the shade that its branches made 

" Have past the vows of my love and me." 

Young Branxholm peeped, and puirly spake, 

Until he did his ain men see, 
With witches' hazel in each steel cap, 

In scorn of SouhY gramarye ; 
Then shoulder-hight for glee he lap, 

" Methinks I spye a coming tree !" 

" Aye, many may come, but few return," 
Quo* Soulis, the lord of gramarye ; 

" No warrior's hand in fair Scotland 
" Shall ever dint a wound on me !" 

" Now, by my sooth," quo' bauld Walter, 
" If that be true we soon shall see." 

His bent bow he drew, and the arrow was true, 
But never a wound or scar had he. 
f 2 



.68 



Then up bespake him true Thomas, 

He was the lord of Ersyltoun : 
" The wizard's spell no steel can quell, 

" Till once ycur lances bear him down." 

They bore him down with lances bright, 
But never a wound or scar had he ; 

With hempen bands they bound* him tight, 
Both hands and feet on the Nine-stane lee. 

That wizard accurst, the bands he burst ; 

They moulder' d at his magic spell ; 
And, neck and heel, in the forged steel 

They bound him against the charms of hell. 

That wizard accurst, the bands he burst ; 

No forged steel his charms could bide. 
Then up bespake him true Thomas, 

" We'll bind him yet, whate'er betide." 

The black spae-book from his breast he took. 
Impressed with many a warlock spell : 

And the book it was wrote by Michael Scott* 
Who held in awe the fiends of hell. 



69 



They buried it deep, where his bones they sleep, 
That mortal man mijrht never it see : 

But Thomas did save it from the grave, 
When he returned from Faerie. 

The black spae-book from his breast he took, 
And turned the leaves with curious hand; 

No ropes, did he find, the wizard could bind, 
But threefold ropes of sifted sand. 

They sifted the sand from the Nine-stane burn, 
And shaped the ropes so curiouslie ; 

But the ropes would neither twist nor twine, 
For Thomas true and his gramarye. 

The black spae-book from his breast he took, 
And again he turned it with his hand ; 

And he bade each lad of Teviot add 
The barley chaff to the sifted sand. 

The barley chaff to the sifted sand 
They added still by handfulls nine ; 

But Redcap sly unseen was by, 

And the ropes would neither twist nor twine. 
f 3 



70 



And still beside the Nine-stane burn, 

Ribb'd like the sand at mark of sea 
The ropes, that would not twist nor turn, 

Shap'd of the sifted sand you see. 

The black spae-book true Thomas he took ; 

Again its magic leaves he spread ; 
And he found that to quell the powerful spell, 

The wizard must be boiFd in lead. 

On a circle of stones they plac'd the pot, 

On a circle of stones but barely nine ; 
They heated it red and fiery hot, 

Till the burnish'd brass did glimmer and shine. 

They roll'd him up in a sheet of lead, 

A sheet of lead for a funeral pall ; 
They plung'd him in the cauldron red, 

And melted him, lead and bones, and all. 

At the Skelf-hill, the cauldron still 

The men of Liddesdale can show ; 
And on the spot, where they boil'd the pot, 

The spreat * and the deer-hair f ne'er shall grow. * 

* Spreat — The spreat is a species of water-rush, 
f Deer-hair — The deer-hair is a coarse species of pointed grass, 
which, in May, bears a very minute, but beautiful yellow flower. 



71 



NOTES 

BY THE EDITOR OF 
THE MINSTRELSY OF THE SCOTTISH BORDERS. 



The tradition regarding the death of Lord Soulis, however 
singular, is not without a parallel in the real history of Scot- 
land. The same extraordinary mode of cookery was actually 
practised [horresco referens) upon the body of a sheriff of 
the Mearns. This person, whose name was Melville of Glen- 
bervie, bore his faculties so harshly, that he became detested 
by the barons of the country. Reiterated complaints of his 
conduct having been made to James I. (or, as others say, 
to the duke of Albany, ) the monarch answered, in a moment 
of unguarded impatience, " Sorrow gin the sheriff were sod- 
" den, and supped in broo !" The complainers retired, per- 
fectly satisfied. Shortly after, the lairds of Arbuthnot, Ma- 
ther, Laureston, and Pittaraw, decoyed Melville to the top 
of the hill of Garvock, above Lawrencekirk, under pretence 
of a grand hunting party. Upon this place (still called the 
Sheriff's Pot) the barons had prepared a fire and a boiling 
cauldron, into which they plunged the unlucky sheriff. After 
he was sodden (as the king termed it) for a sufficient time, 
the savages, that they might literally observe the royal man- 
date, concluded the scene of abomination by actually par- 
taking of the hell-broth. 

f 4? 



72 



The three lairds were outlawed for this offence ; and Bar- 
clay, one of their number, to screen himself from justice, 
erected the kaim (». e. the camp, or fortress) of Mathers, 
which stands upon a rocky and almost inaccessible peninsula, 
over-hanging the German ocean. The laird of Arbuthnot 
is said to have eluded the royal vengeance, by claiming the 
benefit of the law of clan Macduff. A pardon, or perhaps 
a deed of replegiation, founded upon that law, is said to be 
still extant among the records of the viscount of Arbuthnot. 

Pellow narrates a similar instance of atrocity, perpetrated 
after the death of Muley Ismael, emperor of Morocco, in 
1727, when the inhabitants of Old Fez, throwing off all alle- 
giance to his successor, slew " Alchyde Boel le Rosea, their 
" old governor, boiling his flesh, and many, through spite, 
" eating thereof, and throwing what they could not eat of it 
" to the dogs." — See Pellow's Travels in South Barbary. 
And we may add to such tales the oriental tyranny of 
Zenghis Khan, who immersed seventy Tartar Khans in as 
many boiling cauldrons. 

The punishment of boiling seems to have been in use among 
the English at a very late period, as appears from the follow- 
ing passage in Stowe's Chronicle: — "The 17th March 
" (1524,) Margaret Davy, a maid, was boiled at Smithfield, 
" for poisoning of three households that she had dwelled in." 
But unquestionably the usual practice of Smithfield cook- 
ery, about that period, was by a different application of fire. 



73 



THE COUT OF KEELDAR. 



The tradition on which the following ballad is founded 
'derives considerable illustration from the argument of the 
preceding. It is necessary to add, that the most redoubted 
adversary of Lord Soulis was the chief of Keeldar, a North- 
umbrian district, adjacent to Cumberland, who perished in 
a sudden encounter on the banks of the Hermitage. Being 
arrayed in armour of proof, he sustained no hurt in the 
combat ; but stumbling in retreating across the river, the 
hostile party held him down below water with their lances 
till he died; and the eddy, in which he perished, is still 
called the Cout of Keeldar's Pool. His grave, of gigantic 
size, is pointed out on the banks of the Hermitage, at the 
western corner of a wall, surrounding the burial-ground of 
a ruined chapel. As an enemy of lord Soulis, his memory 
is revered ; and the popular epithet of Cout, i. e. Colt, is 
expressive of his strength, stature, and activity. Tradition 
likewise relates, that the young chief of Mangerton, to whose 
protection lord Soulis had, in some eminent jeopardy, been 
indebted for his life, was decoyed by that faithless tyrant 
into his castle of Hermitage, and insidiously murdered at a 
feast. 



74 



The Keeldar Stone, by which the Northumbrian chief 
passed in his incursion, is still pointed out, as a boundary 
mark, on the confines of Jed forest, and Northumberland. 
It is a rough insulated mass, of considerable dimensions, 
and it is held unlucky to ride thrice tmthershins * around it. 
Keeldar Castle is now a hunting seat, belonging to the duke 
of Northumberland. 

The Brotvn Man of the Muirs is a Fairy of the most ma- 
lignant order, the genuine duergar. Walsingham mentions 
a story of an unfortunate youth, whose brains were extracted 
from his skull, during his sleep, by this malicious being. 
Owing to this operation, he remained insane many years, 
till the Virgin Mary courteously restored his brains to their 
station. 



* bidder shins. — German, widdersms. A direction contrary to the course 
of the sun ; from left, namely, to right. 






75 



THE COUT OF KEELDAR. 



The eiry blood-hound howPd by night, 

The streamers * flaunted red, 
Till broken streaks of flaky light 

O'er Keeldar's mountains spread. 

The lady sigh'd as Keeldar rose : 
" Come tell me, dear love mine, 

u Go you to hunt where Keeldar flows, 
" Or on the banks of Tyne ?" 

" The heath-bell blows where Keeldar flows, 

" By Tyne the primrose pale : 
" But now we ride on the Scottish side, 

" To hunt in Liddesdale." 

" Gin you will ride on the Scottish side, 

" Sore must thy Margaret mourn ; 
" For Soulis abhorr'd is LyddalPs lord, 

" And I fear you'll ne'er return. 

■ 

* Streamers — Northern lights. 



< 



76 



" The axe he bears, it hacks and tears ; 

" 'Tis form'd of an earth-fast flint ; * 
" No armour of knight, though ever so wight, 

" Can bear its deadly dint. 

" No danger he fears, for a charm'd sword he wears ; 

" Of adderstone the hilt ; f , 
" No Tynedale knight had ever such might, 

" But his heart-blood was spilt." — 

•* In my plume is seen the holly green, 
" With the leaves of the rowan tree ; % 

" And my casque of sand by a mermaid's hand 
" Was formed beneath the sea. 



* An earth-fast stone, or an insulated stone, inclosed in a bed of 
earth, is supposed to possess peculiar properties. It is frequently 
applied to sprains and bruises, and used to dissipate swellings ; but 
its blow is reckoned uncommonly severe. 

-J- The adderstone, among the Scottish peasantry, is held in almost 
as high veneration, as, among the Gauls, the ovum anguinum, de- 
scribed by Pliny. — Natural History, 1. xxix. c. 3. The name is ap- 
plied to celts, and other round perforated stones. The vulgar sup- 
pose them to be perforated by the stings of adders. 

f The rowan tree, or mountain ash, is still used by the peasantry, 
to avert the effects of charms and witchcraft. An inferior degree 
of the same influence is supposed to reside in many evergreens; as 
the holly and the bay. With the leaves of the bay the English and 
Welch peasants were lately accustomed to adorn their doors at Mid- 
summer. — Vide Brand's Vulgar Antiquities. 



77 



" Then, Margaret dear, have thou no fear ! 

" That bodes no ill to me, 
"/Though never a knight by mortal might 

" Gould match his gramarye." — 

Then forward bound both horse and hound* 

And rattle o'er the vale ; 
As the wintry breeze through leafless trees 

Drives on the pattering hail. 

Behind their course the English fells 

In deepening blue retire ; 
Till soon before them boldly swells 

The muir of dun Redswire. 

And when they reach'd the Redswire high, 

Soft beam'd the rising sun ; 
But formless shadows seem'd to fly 

Along the muir-land dun. 

And when he reach'd the Redswire high, 

His bugle Keeldar blew ; 
And round did float, with clamorous note 

And scream, the hoarse curlew. 



78 



The next blast that young Keeldar blew, 

The wind grew deadly still ; 
But the sleek fern with fingery leaves 

Wav'd wildly o'er the hill. 

The third blast that young Keeldar blew, 

Still stood the limber fern; 
And a Wee Man, of swarthy hue, 

Up started by a cairn. 

His russet weeds were brown as heath 

That clothes the upland fell ; 
And the hair of his head was frizly red 

As the purple heather-bell. 

An urchin,* clad in prickles red, 

Clung cowering to his arm ; 
The hounds they howl'd, and backward fled, 

As struck by Fairy charm. 

" Why rises high the stag-hound's cry, 
" Where stag-hound ne'er should be ? 

" Why wakes that horn the silent morn, 
w Without the leave of me?" — 

* Urchin — Hedge-hog. 



79 



" Brown dwarf, that o'er the muirland strays, 
" Thy name to Keeldar tell !"— 

" The Brown Man of the Muirs, who stays 
" Beneath the heather-bell. 

" 'Tis sweet beneath the heather-bell 

" To live in autumn brown ; 
" And sweet to hear the laverocks swell 

" Far far from tower and town. 

" But woe betide the shrilling horn, 

" The chace's surly cheer ; 
" And ever that hunter is forlorn, 

" Whom first at morn I hear." — 

Says, " Weal nor woe, nor friend nor foe, 
" In thee we hope nor dread." — 

But, ere the bugles green could blow, 
The Wee Brown Man had fled. 

And onward, onward, hound and horse, 
Young Keeldar's band have gone; 

And soon they wheel in rapid course 
Around the Keeldar Stone. 



80 



Green vervain round its base did creep, 

A powerful seed that bore ; 
And oft of yore its channels deep 

Were stain'd with human gore. 

And still, when blood-drops, clotted thin, 

Hang the grey moss upon, 
The spirit murmurs from within, 

And shakes the rocking-stone. * 



* The rocking-stone, commonly reckoned a Druidical monument, 
has always been held in superstitious veneration by the people. The 
popular opinion, which supposes them to be inhabited by a spirit, 
coincides with that of the ancient Icelanders, who worshipped the 
demons which they believed to inhabit great stones. It is related 
in the Kristni Saga, chap. 2. that the first Icelandic bishop, by 
chaunting a hymn over one of these sacred stones, immediately after 
his arrival in the island, split it, expelled the spirit, and converted 
its worshippers to Christianity. The herb vervain, revered by the 
Druids, was also reckoned a powerful charm by the common people ; 
and the author recollects a popular rhyme, supposed to be addressed 
to a young woman by the devil, who attempted to seduce her in the 
shape of a handsome young man : — 

Gin ye wish to be leman mine 

Lay oflf the St. John's wort, and the vervine. 

By his repugnance to these sacred plants, his mistress discovered the 
cloven foot. 



81 



Around, around, young Keeldar wound. 

And call'd, in scornful tone, 
With him to pass the barrier ground, 

The Spirit of the Stone. 

The rude crag rock'd : "I come for death, 

" I come to work thy woe." 
And 'twas the Brown Man of the Heath, 

That murmur 'd from below. 

But onward, onward, Keeldar past, 

Swift as the winter wind, 
When, hovering on the driving blast, 

The snow-flakes fall behind. 

They pass'd the muir of berries blae, 

The stone cross on the lee; 
They reach'd the green, the bonny brae, 

Beneath the birchen tree. 

This is the bonny brae, the green, 

^let sacred to the brave, 
Where still, of ancient size, is seen 

Gigantic Keeidar's grave. 



82 



The lonely shepherd loves to mark 

The daisy springing fair, 
Where weeps the birch of silver bark, 

With long dishevelled hair. 

The grave is green, and round is spread 

The curling lady-fern : 
That fatal day the mould was red, 

No moss was on the cairn. 

And next they pass'd the chapel there ; 

The holy ground was by, 
Where many a stone is sculptur'd fair, 

To mark where warriors lie. 

And here, beside the mountain flood, 

A massy castle frown'd, 
Since first the Pictish race in blood * 

The haunted pile did found. 



* Castles, remarkable for size, strength, and antiquity, are, by the 
common people, commonly attributed to the Picts, or Pechs, who 
are not supposed to have trusted solely to their skill in masonry, 
in constructing these edifices, but are believed to have bathed the 
foundation-stone with human blood, in order to propitiate the spirit 
of the soil. Similar to this is the Gaelic tradition, according to which 



83 

The restless stream its rocky base 

Assails with ceaseless din ; 
And many a troubled spirit strays 

The dungeons dark within. 

Soon from the lofty tower there hied 

A knight across the vale. 
" I greet your master well," he cried, 

" From Soulis of Liddesdale. 

" He heard your bugle's echoing call, 
u In his green garden bower ; 

<c And bids you to his festive hall, 
" Within his ancient tower." — 

Young Keeldar call'd his hunter train ; 

" For doubtful cheer prepare ! 
" And, as you open force disdain, 

" Of secret guile beware ! 



St. Columba is supposed to have been forced to bury St. Oran alive, 
beneath the foundation of his monastery, in order to propitiate the 
spirits of the soil, who demolished by night what was built during 
the day. 

G 2 



84 



" 'Twas here for Mangerton's brave lord 

" A bloody feast was set, 
" Who weetless at the festal board 

" The bull's broad frontlet met. 

" Then ever, at uncourteous feast, 

" Keep every man his brand ; 
" And, as you 'mid his friends are plac'd, 

" Range on the better hand. 

" And if the bull's ill-omen'd head * 

" Appear to grace the feast, 
" Your whingers with unerring speed 

" Plunge in each neighbour's breast." — 

In Hermitage they sat at dine, 

In pomp and proud array ; 
And oft they fill'd the blood-red wine, 

While merry minstrels play. 

* To present a bull's head before a person at a feast, was, in the 
ancient turbulent times of Scotland, a common signal for his assas- 
sination. Thus, Lindsay of Pitscottie relates in his History, p. 17, 
that " efter the dinner was endit, once alle the delicate courses taken 
" away, the chancellor (Sir William Crichton) presentit the bullis 
" head befoir the earle of Douglas, in signe and toaken of condem- 
" nation to the death." 



85 



And many a hunting-song they sung, 

And song of game and glee'; 
Then tun'd to plaintive strains their tongue, 

" Of Scotland's luve and lee." * 

To wilder measures next they turn : 
" The Black Black Bull of Noroway !" 

Sudden the tapers cease to burn, 
The minstrels cease to play. 



* The most ancient Scottish song known is that which is here 
alluded to, and is thus given by Wintoun, in his Chronykil, vol. i. 
p.401: — 

" Quhen Alysandyr oure kyng wes dede, 

That Scotland led in luve and le, 
Away wes sons of ale and brede, 

Of wyne and wax, of gamyn and gle : 

Oure gold wes changyd into lede. 

Cryst, borne into virgynyte, 
Succour Scotland and remede, 

That stad is in perplexyte. 

That alluded to in the following verse, is a wild fanciful popular 
tale of enchantment, termed " The Black Bull of Ivoroway." The 
author is inclined to believe it the same story with the romance of 
the " Three Futtit Dog of Noroway" the title of which is mentioned 
in the Complaynt of Scotland, 

G 3 






86 

Each hunter bold of Keeldar's train 

Sat an enchanted man ; 
For, cold as ice, through every vein 

The freezing life-blood ran. 

Each rigid hand the whinger wrung, 

Each gaz'd with glaring eye ; 
But Keeldar from the table sprung, 

Unharm'd by gramarye. 

He burst the doors ; the roofs resound ; 

With yells the castle rung ; 
Before him wijth a sudden bound 

His favourite blood-hound sprung. 

Ere he could pass, the door was barr'd ; 

And, grating harsh from under, 
With creaking, jarring noise, was heard 

A sound like distant thunder. • 

The iron clash, the grinding sound, 

Announce the dire sword-mill : * 
The piteous bowlings of the hound 

The dreadful dungeon fill. 

* The author is unable to produce any authority that the execra- 
ble machine, the sword-mill, so well known on the continent, was 



87 



With breath drawn in, the murderous crew 

Stood listening to the yell ; 
And greater still their wonder grew, 

As on their ear it fell. 

They listen'd for a human shriek 

Amid the jarring sound ; 
They only heard, in echoes weak, 

The murmurs of the hound. 

The death-bell rung, and wide were flung 

The castle gates amain ; 
^Tiile hurry out the armed rout, 

And marshal on the plain. 

Ah ! ne'er before in Border feud 

Was seen so dire a fray ! 
Through glittering lances Keeldar hew'd 

A red corse-paven way. 



ever employed in Scotland ; but he believes the vestiges of some- 
thing very similar have been discovered in the ruins of old castles. 

G 4? 



ss 



His helmet, form'd of mermaid-sand, 
No lethal brand could dint ; 

No other arms could e'er withstand 
The axe of earth-fast flint. 

In Keeldar's plume the holly green, 

And rowan leaves, nod on, 
And vain Lord Soulis's sword was seen, 

Though the hilt was adderstone. 

Then up the Wee Brown Man he rose, 

By Soulis of Liddesdale : 
11 In vain," he said, " a thousand blows 

" Assail the charmed mail. 

" In vain by land your arrows glide, 
** In vain your faulchions gleam : 

66 No spell can stay the living tide, * 
" Or charm the rushing stream." 



* That no species of magic had any effect over a running stream, 
was a common opinion among the vulgar, and is alluded to in Burns's 
admirable tale of Tarn 6'Shanter, 



89 



And now young Keeldar reach'd the stream, 

Above the foamy lin ; 
The Border lances round him gleam, 

And force the warrior in. 

The holly floated to the side, 
And the leaf of the rowan pale : 

Alas ! no spell could charm the tide, 
Nor the lance of Liddesdale. 

Swift was the Cout o' Keeldar's course 

Along the lily lee ; 
But home came never hound nor horse, 
• And never home came he. 

Where weeps the birch with branches green, 

Without the holy ground, 
Between two old gray stones is seen 

The warrior's ridgy mound. 

And the hunters bold of Keeldar's train 

Within yon castle's wall, 
In a deadly sleep must aye remain, 

Till the ruin'd towers down fall. 



90 



Each in his hunter's garb array'd, 

Each holds his bugle horn ; 
Their keen hounds at their feet are laid* 

That ne'er shall wake the morn* 



91 



THE MERMAID. 



The following poem is founded upon a Gaelic traditional 
ballad, called Macphail of Colonsay, and the Mermaid of 
Corrivrekin. The dangerous gulf of Corrivrekin lies be- 
tween the islands of Jura and Scarba, and the superstition 
of the islanders has tenanted its shelves and eddies with all 
the fabulous monsters and demons of the ocean. Among 
these, according to a universal tradition, the Mermaid is the 
most remarkable. In her dwelling, and in her appearance, 
the Mermaid of the northern nations resembles the Syren of 
the ancients. The appendages of a comb and mirror are 
probably of Celtic invention. 

The Gaelic story bears, that Macphail of Colonsay was 
carried off by a Mermaid, while passing the gulf above men - 
tioned: that they resided together in a grotto beneath the 
sea for several years, during which time she bore him five 
children: but finally he tired of her society, and having 
prevailed upon her to carry him near the shore of Colonsay, 
he escaped to land. 

The inhabitants of the Isle of Man have a number of such 
stories, which may be found in Waldron. One bears, that 



92 



a very beautiful Mermaid fell in love with a young shepherd, 
who kept his flocks beside a creek much frequented by these 
marine people. She frequently caressed him, and brought 
him presents of coral, fine pearls, and every valuable pro- 
duction of the ocean. Once upon a time, as she threw her 
arms eagerly round him, he suspected her of a design to 
draw him into the sea, and, struggling hard, disengaged him- 
self from her embrace, and ran away. But the Mermaid 
resented either the suspicion, or the disappointment, so highly, 
that she threw a stone after him, and flung herself into the sea, 
whence she never returned. The youth, though but slightly 
struck with the pebble, felt, from that moment, the most 
excruciating agony, and died at the end of seven days. — 
Waldron's Works, p. 176. 

Another tradition of the same island affirms, that one of 
these amphibious damsels was caught in a net, and brought, to 
land, by some fishers, who had spread a snare for the deni- 
zens of the ocean. She was shaped like the most beautiful 
female down to the waist, but below trailed a voluminous 
fish's tail, with spreading fins. As she would neither eat nor 
speak, (though they knew she had the power of language,) 
they became apprehensive that the island would be visited 
with some strange calamity, if she should die for want of 
food ; and, therefore, on the third night, they left the door 
open, that she might escape. Accordingly she did not fail 
to embrace the opportunity; but, gliding with incredible 
swiftness to the sea-side, she plunged herself into the waters, 
and was welcomed by a number of her own species, who 
were heard to enquire, what she had seen among the natives 
of the earth ? " Nothing," she answered, " wonderful, except 



93 



f< that they were silly enough to throw away the water in 
u which they had boiled their eggs.'' 
Collins, in his notes upon the line, 

'* Mom, 'long hid from those who sail the main," 

explains it, by a similar Celtic tradition. It seems, a Mer- 
maid had become so much charmed with a young man, who 
walked upon the beach, that she made love to him ; and, 
being rejected with scorn, she excited by enchantment a 
mist, which long concealed the island from all navigators. 

I must mention another Mankish tradition, because, being 
derived from the common source of Celtic mythology, they 
appear the most natural illustrations of the Hebridean tale. 
About fifty years before Waldron went to reside in Man 
(for there were living witnesses of the legend, when he was 
upon the island,) a project was undertaken, to fish treasures 
up from the deep by means of a diving-bell. A venturous 
fellow, accordingly, descended, and kept pulling for more 
rope, till all they had on board was expended. This must 
have been no small quantity, for a skilful mathematician, who 
was on board, judging from the proportion of line let down, 
declared that the adventurer must have descended, at least, 
double the number of leagues which the moon is computed 
to be distant from the earth. At such a depth, wonders 
might be expected, and wonderful was the account given by 
the adventurer, when drawn up to the air. 

" After," said he, " I had passed the region of fishes, I 
* descended into a pure element, clear as the air in the 
" serenest and most unclouded day, through which, as I 
ci passed, I saw the bottom of the watery world, paved with 



94 



" coral, and a shining kind of pebbles, which glittered like 
" the sun-beams reflected on a glass. I longed to tread 
" the delightful paths, and never felt more exquisite delight 
" than when the machine, I was inclosed in, grazed upon it. 
" On looking through the little windows of my prison, 
" I saw large streets and squares on every side, ornamented 
" with huge pyramids of crystal, not inferior in brightness 
" to the finest diamonds ; and the most beautiful building, 
" not of stone, nor brick, but of mother-of-pearl, and era- 
" bossed in various figures with shells of all colours. The 
" passage which led to one of these magnificent apart- 
" ments, being open, I endeavoured, with my whole strength, 
" to move my enclosure towards it; which I did, though 
" with great difficulty, and very slowly. At last, however, 
" I got entrance into a very spacious room, in the midst 
" of which stood a large amber table, with several chairs 
" round, of the same. The floor of it was composed of 
" rough diamonds, topazes, emeralds, rubies, and pearls. 
" Here I doubted not but to make my voyage as profitable 
<* as it was pleasant ; for, could I have brought with me but 
" a few of these, they would have been of more value than 
** all we could hope for in a thousand wrecks; but they 
" were so closely wedged in, and so strongly cemented by 
« c time, that they were not to be unfastened. I saw several 
<£ chains, carcanets, and rings, of all manner of precious 
(i stones, finely cut, and set after our manner; which, I 
" suppose, had been the prize of the winds and waves : these 
" were hanging loosely on the jasper walls by strings made 
" of rushes, which I might easily have taken down; but> 
" as I had edged myself within half a foot reach of them* 
" I was unfortunately drawn back through your want of 



95 



■ line. In ray return, I saw several comely Mermen, and 
« beautiful Mermaids, the inhabitants of this blissful realm, 
" swiftly descending towards it ; but they seemed frighted 
" at my appearance, and glided at a distance from me, 
" taking me, no doubt, for some monstrous and new-created 
*' species." — Waldron, ibidem. 

It would be very easy to enlarge this introduction, by 
quoting a variety of authors concerning the supposed exis- 
tence of these marine people. The reader may consult the 
Telliamed of M. Maillet, who, in support of the Neptunist 
system of geology, has collected a variety of legends, re- 
specting mermen and mermaids, p. 230, et sequen. Much 
information may also be derived from Pontopiddan's Natural 
History of Norway, who fails not to people her seas with 
this amphibious race. * An older authority is to be found 
in the Kongs shugg-sio, or Royal Mirror, written, as it is 
believed, about 1170. The mermen, there mentioned, are 
termed hqfstrambur (sea giants,) and are said to have the 
upper parts resembling the human race ; but the author, 
with becoming diffidence, declines to state positively 
whether they are equipped with a dolphin's tail. The female 
monster is called Mar-Gyga (sea-giantess,) and is averred 
certainly to drag a fish's train. She appears, generally, in 
the act of devouring fish which she has caught. According 



* I believe something to the same purpose may be found in the school 
editions of Guthrie's Geographical Grammar ; a work, which though, in ge- 
neral, as sober and dull as could be desired by the gravest preceptor, becomes 
of a sudden uncommonly lively, upon the subject of the teas of Norway; the 
author having thought meet to adopt the Right Reverend Erick Pontopiddan's 
account of Mermen, sea-snakes, and krakens. 



96 



to the apparent voracity of her appetite, the sailors pretend 
to guess what chance they had of saving their lives in the 
tempests, which always followed her appearance. — Speculum 
Regale, 1768, p. 166. 

Mermaids were sometimes supposed to be possessed of 
supernatural powers. Resenius, in his life of Frederick II., 
gives us an account of a Syren, who not only prophesied 
future events, but, as might have been expected from the 
element in which she dwelt, preached vehemently against 
the sin of drunkenness. 

The Mermaid of Corrivrekin possessed the power of oc- 
casionally resigning her scaly train ; and the Celtic tradition 
bears, that when, from choice or necessity, she was invested 
with that appendage, her manners were more stern and 
savage than when her form was entirely human. Of course, 
she warned her lover not to come into her presence when 
she was thus transformed. This belief is alluded to in the 
following ballad. 

The beauty of the Syrens is celebrated in the old ro- 
mances of chivalry. Doolin, upon beholding, for the first 
time in his life, a beautiful female, exclaims, " Par sainte 
" Marie, si belle creature ne visje oncque en ma vie I Je crois 
'• que cest un ange du ciel, ou une seraine de mer ; Je crois 
lt que komme n'engendra oncque si belle creature" — La Fleur 
des battailles. 

I cannot help adding, that some late evidence has been 
produced, serving to show, either that imagination played 
strange tricks with the witnesses, or that the existence of 
Mermaids is no longer a matter of question. I refer to the 
letters written to Sir John Sinclair, by the spectators of such 
a phenomenon, in the bay of Sandside, in Caithness. 



97 



TO 
THE RIGHT HONOURABLE 

LADY CHARLOTTE CAMPBELL, 

WITH 

THE MERMAID. 



To brighter charms depart, my simple lay, 
Than grac'd of old the maid of Colonsay, 
When her fond lover, lessening from her view, 
With eyes reverted o'er the surge withdrew. , 
But happier still, should lovely Campbell sing 
Thy plaintive numbers to the trembling string, 
The Mermaid's melting strains would yield to thee, 
Though pour'd diffusive o'er the silver sea. 

Go boldly forth — but ah ! the listening throng, 
Rapt by the Syren, would forget the song ! 
Lo ! while they pause, nor dare to gaze around, 
Afraid to break the soft enchanting sound, 
While swells to sympathy each fluttering heart, 
'Tis not the poet's, but the Syren's art. 

H 



98 



Go forth, devoid of fear, my simple lay ! 
First heard, returning from Iona's bay, 
When round our bark the shades of evening drew, 
And broken slumbers prest our weary crew. 
While round the prow the sea-fire, flashing bright, 
Shed a strange lustre o'er the waste of night ; 
While harsh and dismal scream'd the diving gull, 
Round the dark rocks that wall the coast of Mull ; 
As through black reefs we held our venturous way, 
I caught the wild traditionary lay ; — 
A wreath, no more in black Iona's isle 
To bloom — but grac'd by high-born beauty's smile. 



99 



THE MERMAID. 



On Jura's heath how sweetly swell 
The murmurs of the mountain bee ! 

How softly mourns the writhed shell 
Of Jura's shore its parent sea ! 

But softer, floating o'er the deep, 

The Mermaid's sweet sea-soothing lay, 

That charm'd the dancing waves to sleep, 
Before the bark of Colonsay. 

Aloft the purple pennons wave, 

As, parting gay from Crinan's shore, 

From Morven's wars the seamen brave 
Their gallant chieftain homeward bore. 

In youth's gay bloom, the brave Macphail 
Still blam'd the lingering bark's delay ; 

For her he chid the flagging sail, 
The lovely maid of Colonsay. 
H 2 



100 

And " Raise," he cried, " the song of love, 
" The maiden sung with tearful smile, 

" When first, o'er Jura's hills to rove, 
" We left afar the lonely isle ! 

' When on this ring of ruby red 

' Shall die,' she said, c the crimson hue, 

' Know that thy favourite fair is dead, 
' Or proves to thee and love untrue.' 

Now, lightly pois'd, the rising oar 
Disperses wide the foamy spray, 

And, echoing far o'er Crinan's shore, 
Resounds the song of Colonsay. 

" Softly blow, thou western breeze, 
" Softly rustle through the sail, 

" Sooth to rest the furrowy seas, 

" Before my love, sweet western gale ! 

" Where the wave is ting'd with red, 
" And the russet sea-leaves grow, 

" Mariners, with prudent dread, 
" Shun the shelving reefs below. 



101 

c As you pass through Jura's sound, 

" Bend your course by Scarba's shore, 
" Shun, O shun, the gulf profound, 

" Where Corrivrekin's surges roar ! 

" If, from that unbottom'd deep, 

" With wrinkled form and writhed train, 

" O'er the verge of Scarba's steep, 

" The sea-snake heave his snowy mane, * 

* " They, who, in works of navigation, on the coasts of Norway, 
" employ themselves in fishing or merchandize, do all agree in this 
" strange story, that there is a serpent there, which is of a vast 
" magnitude, namely, two hundred feet long, and moreover twenty 
" feet thick; and is wont to live in rocks and caves, toward the 
" sea-coast about Berge ; which will go alone from his holes, in a 
" clear night in summer, and devours calves, lambs, and hogs ; or 
" else he goes into the sea to feed on polypus, locusts, and all sorts 
" of sea-crabs. He hath commonly hair hanging from his neck a 
" cubit long, and sharp scales, and is black, and he hath flaming 
" shining eyes. This snake disquiets the skippers, and he puts up his 
" head on high, like a pillar, and catcheth away men, and he de- 
" vours them ; and this hapneth not but it signifies some wonderful 
" change of the kingdom near at hand ; namely, that the princes 
" shall die, or be banished; or some tumultuous wars shall pre- 
" sentlie follow." — Olaus Magnus, London, 15£8, rendered into 
English by J. S. Much more of the sea-snake may be learned from 
the credible witnesses cited by Pontopiddan, who saw it raise itself 
from the sea, tjwice as high as the mast of their vessel. The tradition 

H 3 



102 

" Unwarp, unwind his oozy coils, 
" Sea-green sisters of the main, 

" And in the gulf where ocean boils 
" The unwieldy wallowing monster chain ! 

" Softly blow, thou western breeze, 
" Softly rustle through the sail, 

" Sooth to rest the furrowed seas, 

" Before my love, sweet western gale !" 

Thus, all to sooth the chieftain's woe, 
Far from the maid he lov'd so dear, 

The song arose, so soft and slow, 
He seem'd her parting sigh to hear. 

The lonely deck he paces o'er, 

Impatient for the rising day, 
And still, from Crinan's moonlight shore, 

He turns his eyes to Colonsay. 



probably originates in the immense snake of the Edda, whose folds 
were supposed to girdle the earth. 

A sort of sea-snake, of size immense enough to have given rise 
to this tradition, was thrown ashore upon one of the Orkney Isles, 
in 1808. 



103 

The moonbeams crisp the curling surge, 
That streaks with foam the ocean green ; 

While forward still the rowers urge 
Their course, a female form was seen. 

That Sea-maid's form, of pearly light, 
Was whiter than the downy spray, 

And round her bosom, heaving bright, 
Her glossy, yellow ringlets play. 

Borne on a foamy-crested wave, 

She reach'd amain the bounding prow, 

Then, clasping fast the chieftain brave, 
She plunging sought the deep below. 

Ah ! long beside thy feigned bier 

The monks the prayers of death shall say, 
And long for thee the fruitless tear 

Shall weep the maid of Colonsay ' 

But downwards, like a powerless corse, 
The eddying waves the chieftain bear; 

He only heard the moaning hoarse 
Of waters murmuring in his ear. 
H 4 



104 

The murmurs sink by slow degrees ; 

No more the surges round him rave ; 
Lull'd by the music of the seas, 

He lies within a coral cave. 

In dreamy mood reclines he long, 
Nor dares his tranced eyes unclose, 

Till, warbling wild, the Sea-maid's song 
Far in the crystal cavern rose ; 

Soft as that harp's unseen controul, 
In morning dreams that lovers hear, 

Whose strains steal sweetly o'er the soul, 
But never reach the waking ear. 

As sunbeams through the tepid air, 
When clouds dissolve in dews unseen, 

Smile on the flowers, that bloom more fair, 
And fields, that glow with livelier green — 

So melting soft the music fell ; 

It seem'd to sooth the fluttering spray. 
" Say, heard'st thou not these wild notes swell ?" 

" Ah ! 'tis the song of Colonsay." 



105 

Like one that from a fearful dream 
Awakes, the morning light to view, 

And joys to see the purple beam, 
Yet fears to find the vision true, — 

He heard that strain, so wildly sweet, 
Which bade his torpid languor fly ; 

He fear'd some spell had bound his feet, 
And hardly dar'd his limbs to try. 

" This yellow sand, this sparry cave, 
" Shall bend thy soul to beauty's sway. 

" Can'st thou the maiden of the wave 
" Compare to her of Colonsay ?" 

Rous'd by that voice of silver sound, 
From the pav'd floor he lightly sprung, 

And, glancing wild his eyes around, 

Where the fair Nymph her tresses wrung, 

No form he saw of mortal mould ; 

It shone like ocean's snowy foam ; 
Her ringlets wav'd in living gold, 

Her mirror crystal, pearl her comb. 



106 

Her pearly comb the Syren took, 
And careless bound her tresses wild ; 

Still o'er the mirror stole her look, 
As on the wondering youth she smil'd. 

Like music from the greenwood tree, 
Again she rais'd the melting lay : 

— " Fair warrior, wilt thou dwell with me, 
" And leave the maid of Colonsay ? 

" Fair is the crystal hall for me, 

" With rubies and with emeralds set, 

" And sweet the music of the sea 

" Shall sing, when we for love are met. 



" How sweet to dance with gliding feet 

" Along the level tide so green, 
" Responsive to the cadence sweet, 

" That breathes along the moonlight scene ! 

" And soft the music of the main 

" Rings from the motley tortoise-shell, 

" While moonbeams o'er the watery plain 
" Seem trembling in its fitful swell. 



107 

11 How sweet, when billows heave their head, . 

" And shake their snowy crests on high, 
" Serene in ocean's sapphire bed, 

" Beneath the tumbling surge to lie ; 

" To trace with tranquil step the deep, 
" Where pearly drops of frozen dew 

" In concave shells unconscious sleep, 
" Or shine with lustre silvery blue ! 

" Then shall the summer sun from far 
" Pour through the wave a softer ray, 

" While diamonds, in a bower of spar, 
" At eve shall shed a brighter day. 

" Nor stormy wind, nor wintry gale, 
" That o'er the angry ocean sweep, 

" Shall e'er our coral groves assail, 
" Calm in the bosom of the deep. 

" Through the green meads beneath the sea, 
" Enamour'd, we shall fondly stray : 

" Then, gentle warrior, dwell with me, 
" And leave the maid of Colonsay !" — 



108 

" Though bright thy locks of glistering gold, 
" Fair maiden of the foamy main ! 

" Thy life-blood is the water cold, 

" While mine beats high in every vein. 

" If I, beneath thy sparry cave, 

" Should in thy snowy arms recline, 

" Inconstant as the restless wave, 

" My heart would grow as cold as thine." - 

As cygnet-down, proud swell'd her breast ; 

Her eye confest the pearly tear ; 
His hand she to her bosom prest — 

" Is there no heart for rapture here ? 

" These limbs, sprung from the lucid sea, 
" Does no warm blood their currents fill, 

« No heart-pulse riot, wild and free, 
" To joy, to love's delirious thrill ?" — 

" Though all the splendour of the sea 
" Around thy faultless beauty shine, 

" That heart, that riots wild and free, 
" Can hold no sympathy with mine. 



109 

" These sparkling eyes, so wild and gay, 
" They swim not in the light of love: 

" The beauteous maid of Colonsay, 
" Her eyes are milder than the dove ! 

" E'en now, within the lonely isle, 

" Her eyes are dim with tears for me : 

" And canst thou think that Syren- smile 
" Can lure my soul to dwell with thee ?" 

An oozy film her limbs o'erspread ; 

Unfolds in length her scaly train ; 
She toss'd in proud disdain her head, 

And lash'd with webbed fin the main. 

" Dwell here, alone !" the Mermaid cried, 
" And view far off the Sea-nymphs play ; 

" The prison-wall, the azure tide, 
" Shall bar thy steps from Colonsay. 

" Whene'er, like ocean's scaly brood, 
" I cleave with rapid fin the wave, 

M Far from the daughter of the flood 
" Conceal thee in this coral cave. 



110 

" I feel my former soul return ; 

" It kindles at thy cold disdain : 
" And has a mortal dar'd to spurn 

" A daughter of the foamy main?" — 

She fled ; around the crystal cave 
The rolling waves resume their road, 

On the broad portal idly rave, 

But enter not the Nymph's abode. 

And many a weary night went by, 

As in the lonely cave he lay, 
And many a sun rolFd through the sky, 

And pour'd its beams on Colonsay: 

And oft, beneath the silver moon, 
He heard afar the Mermaid sing, 

And oft, to many a melting tune, 
The shell-form'd lyres of ocean ring: 

And when the moon went down the sky, 
Still rose in dreams his native plain, 

And oft he thought his love was by, 

And charm'd him with some tender strain 



Ill 

And, heart-sick, oft he wak'd to weep, 
When ceas'd that voice of silver sound, 

And thought to plunge him in the deep, 
That walPd his crystal cavern round. 

But still the ring of ruby red 

Retain'd its vivid crimson hue, 
And each despairing accent fled, 

To find his gentle love so true. 

When seven long lonely months were gone, 
The Mermaid to his cavern came, 

No more mishapen from the zone, 
But like a maid of mortal frame. 

" O give to me that ruby ring, 
" That on thy finger glances gay, 

" And thou shalt hear the Mermaid sing 
" The song, thou lov'st, of Colonsay." 

" This ruby ring, of crimson grain, 
" Shall on thy finger glitter gay, 

" If thou wilt bear me through the main, 
" Again to visit Colonsay." — 



114 

u Except thou quit thy former love, 
" Content to dwell for aye with me, 

" Thy scorn my finny frame might move 
" To tear thy limbs amid the sea." — 

" Then bear me swift along the main, 
" The lonely isle again to see, 

" And when I here return again, 

" I plight my faith to dwell with thee." 

An oozy film her limbs o'erspread, 
While slow unfolds her scaly train, 

With gluey fangs her hands were clad, 
She lash'd with webbed fin the main. 

He grasps the Mermaid's scaly sides, 
As with broad fin she oars her way; 

Beneath the silent moon she glides, 
That sweetly sleeps on Colonsay. 

Proud swells her heart ! she deems, at last, 
To lure him with her silver tongue, 

And, as the shelving rocks she past, 
She rais'd her voice and sweetly sung. 



113 

In softer, sweeter strains she sung, 
Slow gliding o'er the moonlight bay, 

When light to land the chieftain sprung, 
To hail the maid of Colonsay. 

O sad the Mermaid's gay notes fell, 
And sadly sink remote at sea ! 

So sadly mourns the writhed shell 
Of Jura's shore its parent sea. 

And ever as the year returns, 

The charm-bound sailors know the day ; 
For sadly still the Mermaid mourns 

The lovely chief of Colonsay. 



114 



ON 

THE SABBATH MORNING. 



With- silent awe I hail the sacred morn, 

That slowly wakes while all the fields are still ! 
A soothing calm on every breeze is borne ; 

A graver murmur gurgles from the rill ; 

And echo answers softer from the hill ; 
And softer sings the linnet from the thorn ; 

The sky-lark warbles in a tone less shrill. 
Hail, light serene ! hail, sacred Sabbath-morn ! 
The rooks float silent by in airy drove ; 

The sun a placid yellow lustre throws ; 
The gales, that lately sigh'd along the grove, 

Have hush'd their downy wings in dead repose ; 
The hovering rack of clouds forgets to move ; — 

So smil'd the day when the first morn arose ! 



115 



ODE, 

TO THE SCENES OF INFANCY. 

WRITTEN IN 1801. 



My native stream, my native vale, 
And you, green meads of Teviotdale, 

That after absence long I view ! 
Your bleakest scenes, that rise around, 
Assume the tints of fairy ground, 

And infancy revive anew. 

Thrice blest the days I here have seen, 
When light I trac'd that margin green, 

Blithe as the linnet on the spray ; 
And thought the days would ever last 
As gay and cheerful as the past ; 

The sunshine of a summer's day. 
i 2 



116 

Fair visions, innocently sweet ! 
Though soon you pass'd on viewless feet, 

And vanish'd to return no more ; 
Still, when this anxious breast shall grieve, 
You shall my pensive heart relieve, 

And every former joy restore. 

When first around mine infant head 
Delusive dreams their visions shed, 

To soften or to soothe the soul ; 
In every scene, with glad surprise, 
I saw my native groves arise, 

And Teviot's crystal waters roll. 

And when religion rais'd my view 
Beyond this concave's azure blue, 

Where flowers of fairer lustre blow, 
Where Eden's groves again shall bloom, 
Beyond the desart of the tomb, 

And living streams for ever flow, — 

The groves of soft celestial dye 
Were such as oft had met mine eye, 

Expanding green on Teviot's side ; 
The living stream, whose pearly wave 
In fancy's eye appeared to lave, 

Resembled Teviot's limpid tide. 



117 

When first each joy that childhood yields 
I left, and saw my native fields 

At distance fading dark and blue, 
As if my feet had gone astray 
In some lone desart's pathless way, 

I turn'd, my distant home to view. 

Now tir'd of folly's fluttering breed, 

And scenes where oft the heart must bleed, 

Where every joy is mix'd with pain ; 
Back to this lonely green retreat, 
Which Infancy has render'd sweet, 

I guide my wandering steps again. 

And now, when rosy sun-beams lie 
In thin streaks o'er the eastern sky, 

Beside my native stream I rove ; 
When the gray sea of fading light 
Ebbs gradual down the western height, 

I softly trace my native grove 

When forth at morn the heifers go, 
And fill the fields with plaintive low, 

Re-echoed by their young confin'd ; 
When sun-beams wake the slumbering breeze, 
And light the dew-drops on the trees, 

Beside the stream I he reeling 
i 3 



H8 

And view the water-spiders glide 
Along the smooth and level tide, 

Which, printless, yields not as they pass ; 
While still their slender frisky feet 
Scarce seem with tiny step to meet 

The surface blue and clear as glass. 

Beside the twisted hazel bush 

I love to sit, and hear the thrush, 

Where cluster'd nuts around me spring ; 
While from a thousand mellow throats 
High thrill the gently-trembling notes, 

And winding woodland echoes ring. 

The shadow of my native grove, 
And wavy streaks of light I love, 

When brightest glows the eye of day ; 
And shelter'd from the noon-tide beam, 
I pensive muse beside the stream, 

Or by the pebbled channel stray. 

Where little playful eddies wind, 

The banks with silvery foam are lin'd, 

Untainted as the mountain-snow ; 
And round the rock, incrusted white, 
The rippling waves in murmurs light 

Reply to gales that whispering blow. 



I love the riv'let's stilly chime, 

That marks the ceaseless lapse of time, 

And seems in fancy's ear to say — 
" A few short suns, and thou no more 
Shalt linger on thy parent shore, 

But like the foam-streak pass away." 

Dear fields, in vivid green array'd ! 
When every tint at last shall fade 

In death's funereal cheerless hue, 
As sinks the latest fainting beam 
Of light that on mine eyes shall gleam, 

Still shall I turn your scenes to view. 



i 4 



120 



l ?' 



SPRING, AN ODE. 

WRITTEN WHILE RECOVERING FROM SICKNESS. 



How softly now the vernal gales 
Caress the blossoms on the trees, 

How bright the glistening vapour sails, 
And floats, and wantons on the breeze I 

Sweet Spring in vest of emerald hue, 
"With daisy buds embroider'd fair, 

Calls the gray sky-lark to renew 
Her morning carols, high in air. 

Soft as she treads the dewy vale, 
She listens oft in silence deep, 

To hear her favourite primrose pale 
Awaking from her winter sleep.. 

The fostering gales, the genial skies,, 
My languid frame to health restore ; 

And every sun appears to rise 

More bright than e'er it rose before^ 



121 

Soul of the world ! thy cheering rays 

Bid my full heart with transport burn ! 

Again on nature's charms I gaze, 

And youth's delightful days return. 

Sure he that bids thy radiance glance 

On numerous orbs that round thee wheel, 

Awakes each secret slumbering sense, 

The heavenly breath of Spring to feel. 

I see the hazel's rough notch'd leaves 
Each morning wide and wider spread ; 

While every sigh that zephyr heaves 

Sprinkles the dew-drops round my head. 

The yellow moss in scaly rings 

Creeps round the hawthorn's prickly bough : 
The speckled linnet pecks and sings, 

While snowy blossoms round her blow. 

The gales sing softly through the trees, 

Whose boughs in green waves heave and 
swell ; 

The azure violet scents the breeze 

Which shakes the yellow crow-foot's belL 



122 

The morning sun's soft trembling beams 
Shoot brighter o'er the blue expanse, 

And red the cottage window gleams, 
As o'er its crystal panes they glance. 

But you, dear scenes ! that far away 

Expand beyond these mountains blue, 

Where fancy sheds a purer day, 

And robes the fields in richer hue, — 

A softer voice in every gale 

I mid your woodlands wild should hear; 
And death's unbreathing shades would fail 

To sigh their murmurs in mine ear. 

Ah ! when shall I by Teviot's stream 
The haunts of youth again explore ? 

And muse in melancholy dream 

On days that shall return no more ? 

Dun heathy slopes, and valleys green, 
Which I so long have lov'd to view, 

As o'er my soul each lovely scene 
Unfolds, I bid a fond adieu I 



123 

Yet, while we mark with pitying eye 
The varied scenes of earthly woe, 

Why should we grieve to see them fly ; 
Or fondly linger as they go ? 

Yes ! friendship sweet, and tender love, 

The fond reluctant soul detain ; 
Or all the whispers of the grove, 

With Spring's soft gales, would woo in vain. 

For bliss so sweet, though swift its flight, 

Again we hail the holy sun. — 
Thy yellow tresses glitter bright, 

Fair maid, thy life is just begun. 

To tell thee of the lonely tomb, 

Is morning's radiant face to cloud ; 

To wrap thy soul in sable gloom, 
Is veiling roses with the shroud. 



124 



ODE 

TO THE EVENING STAR. 



How sweet thy modest light to view, 
Fair Star, to love and lovers dear ! 

While trembling on the falling dew, 
Like beauty shining through a tear. 

Or, hanging o'er that mirror-stream, 
To mark that image trembling there, 

Thou seem'st to smile with softer gleam, 
To see thy lovely face so fair. 

Though, blazing o'er the arch of night, 
The moon thy timid beams outshine 

As far as thine each starry light ; — 
Her rays can never vie with thine* 



125 

Thine are the soft enchanting hours 
When twilight lingers on the plain, 

And whispers to the closing flowers, 
That soon the sun will rise again. 

Thine is the breeze that, murmuring bland 
As music, wafts the lover's sigh, 

And bids the yielding heart expand 
In love's delicious extasy. 

Fair Star ! tho' I be doom'd to prove 
That rapture's tears are mix'd with pain, 

Ah, still I feel 'tis sweet to love ! — 
But sweeter to be lov'd again. 



126 



GREENLAND ELEGY. 



A FATHER ON THE DEATH OF HIS SON. 



Again, my son ! the lamp of eve burns clear, 
And every other friend around I see, 

That form the fond fraternal circle here, 
But empty still remains the seat for thee. 

In vain are all thy mother's toils of love ; 

Thy sister Runa's matchless skill is vain ; 
Who oft the eider's silken down has wove 

For thee returning from the glassy plain. 

In Disko's bay I stand for thee no more, 

At gelid eve to see thy trim canoe 
Come lightly gliding through the frost-smoke hoar, 

The sea-fire flashing round the grazing prow. 



127 

No more the peterel's down shall form my vest, 
My robe the giant white-bear's shaggy spoil ; 

No more at evening shall I share the feast, 
Who never shar'd by day the hunter's toil. 

The cavern'd ice has form'd thy chilly bed ; 

Thou dwell'st in darkness all forlorn and drear : 
The mist of ages clings around thy head; 

The weary winter of the northern year. 

My tears are frozen now ; I cannot weep ! — 
My heart is chang'd to ice, it feels so cold ! 

And oft, my son, I long with thee to sleep 

Where, in some emerald cave, thy bones are roll'd. 

But, yet, though grief has chnTd my aged heart, 
And frozen tears have lost their power to flow, — 

Still fond affection bids me bear the smart, 
To guard thy mother from severer woe. 



128 



THE WAIL OF ALZIRA. 



A NEGRO SONG. 



Sweet bird of twilight, sad thy notes, 
That swell the citron-flowers among ! 

But sadder on the night-breeze floats 
Forlorn Alzira's plaintive song. 

While, bending o'er the western flood, 

She soothes the infant on her knee, — 

Sweet babe ! her breast is streak'd with blood, 
And all to ward the scourge from thee. 

" Green are the groves on Benin's strand ; 

And fair the fields beyond the sea : 
Where, lingering on the surf-beat sand. 

My youthful warrior pines for me. 



129 

" And, each revolving morn, he wears 
The sandals his Alzira wore, 

Ere whites, regardless of her tears, 

Had borne her far from Benin's shore. 

u And, each revolving morn, he bears 
The sabre which his father bore : 

And, by the negro's God, he swears 

To bathe its glimmering edge in gore. 



130 



EPISTLE TO A LADY, 

FROM A DANCING BEAR. 

Sent to Lady , after dancing with her in 1801. 



While beaux and foplings simper mawkish praise 
To lisping belles of these degenerate days, 
For orient brilliant, or the smart aigrette 
Of ostrich plumes, with taste and fancy set ; 
Till the fair head no longer can sustain 
The waste of feather, and the want of brain : * — 
What praise deserves Almira, dauntless fair, 
Who first aspir'd to lead a Dancing Bear? 
Taught him to bound on firm elastic heel ; 
In winding orbits round the fair to wheel ; 
Advance, retreat, the twining maze pursue, 
As wanton kittens use the trundling clue ? — 
So, charm'd by Orpheus' magic lyre, advance 
The Thracian Bears to mingle in the dance, 
While broad expands each clumsy, clutching paw ; 
And awful yawns each wide extended jaw ; 



131 



With awkward force their lumpish limbs they fling ; 
And flounce, and hitch, and hobble round the ring : 
While oft the minstrel paus'd, and smil'd to see 
The monsters bounce against a capering tree. 

But then no grateful brute in tuneful lays, 
The music prais'd, as I thy dancing praise ! 
What though these rugged limbs forbid to trace 
Each mazy figure, like the monkey race, 
Yet, not devoid of skill, I boldly claim 
The right to celebrate thy dancing fame. — 
From Bears, the dancer's art at first began ; 
To monkeys next it past, and then to man ; 
And still from Bears, by fate's unerring law, 
Their dance, their manners, men and monkeys draw. 

Thus, mid the lucid wastes of Greenland's snow, 
Where moon-beams wan with silver radiance glow, 
And rocks of ice in misty grandeur rise, 
And men seem giants of enormous size ; 
The fur-clad savage joys the feast to share, 
Conducts the dance and imitates the Bear ; 
Assumes his clumsy gait with conscious pride, 
And kicks, and scampers in the monster's hide, 
Knocks round the shatter'd ice in slippery lumps, 
And thumps the pavement, not with feet, but stumps; 

k 2 



132 

The grisly monster grins at man's disgrace, 
And proudly holds the dancing-master's place. 

In every region, and in every clime 
Renown'd for beauty, genius, wit, and rhyme, 
Where high the plant of fair politeness shoots, 
And glittering blossoms bears, instead of fruits ; — 
Long did the beau claim kindred with the ape, 
And shone a monkey of sublimer shape ; 
Skilful to flirt the hat, the cane, the glove, 
And wear the pert grimace of monkey-love ; 
Of words unmeaning pour'd a ceaseless flood, 
While ladies look'd as if they understood. 
So chats one monkey, while his perter brother 
Chatters as if he understood the other. 

But modern beaux disdain the monkey air, 
And in politeness ape the surly Bear ; 
Like their gruff brother-cubs beside the pole, 
Supinely yawn or indolently loll ; 
Or, careless, seated in an elbow chair, 
Survey the fretted roof with curious stare. 
Secure of pleasing, should they wish to please, 
They trust the fair may term their rudeness ease ; 
The modish ease that no decorum checks, 
That, proud of manhood, dares insult the sex. 



133 



And oft, as affectation's charms bewitch, 
Their efforts rise to a sublimer pitch, 
With maudlin looks the drunkard's mien to suit, 
Anxious to seem a more degraded brute. 
Such are the modish youths, at ball or play, 
Edina's maids without contempt survey ; 
Whom if you with their fellow brutes compare, 
They sink inferior to the honest Bear ; 
Prove man the only brute of nature's race 
That sinks his rank and powers, and courts disgrace. 
What Bear of parts, for human pranks unripe, 
Pretends to smoke the slim tobacco-pipe? 
Or needs for languor, in his social den, 
To play at commerce, whist, or brag, like men ? — 
Be thine the praise that thou, Almira fair, 
For a spruce beau didst choose a Dancing Bear : 
For sure with men like these in order plac'd, 
The Bear himself must prove a beast of taste. — 
The Bear has power, as Indian ladies say, 
To mend your vices, take your faults away ; 
And though he cannot female charms renew, 
Removes the fault that shades them from the view. 
As envious clouds forbid the sun to shine, 
Or patches mar the human face divine. 
Yet some pretend the Bears their talents hide, 
As such experiments are seldom tried ; 

k 3 



134 



And some demand, to wit and beauty blind, 

" Take all their faults, pray what remains behind ?" 

But let them sneer — the ladies swear they shall 

Be lov'd for faults, or not be lov'd at all. 

Virtues are strong, and need no kind affection ; 

They love their faults because these need protection. 

Hence springs the cause that female hearts incline 

The first in fashion's meteor-lists to shine, 

While baby words soft affectation minces, 

With " O the charming lace ! the charming chintzes !" 

Hence taught, they flirt with tittering skill the fan, 

Or scan with optic glass the form of man ; 

They pant in silence, or exult in riot, 

Absurdly prattlesome, absurdly quiet. 

Almira, thou whom thy companions see 
The soul of parties, yet not seem to be ; 
Doom'd to excel, yet never wish to shine, 
Almira ! say what faults wilt thou resign ? 
The wit, though fear'd by none, by all admir'd ? 
Good humour, prais'd by none, by all desir'd ? 
Softness of soul, to which our hearts submit ? 
The nameless grace, that pleases more than wit ? 
These are the powers that every bosom move 
To love thee, though they never think of love ; 



13a 



And if we pause, we oft shall find it true, 
We love the most when love is least in view. — 
Are these thy faults, Almira ? blest is he 
Foredoom'd to lead the dance of life with thee. 
But as thou tread'st the giddy circling maze 
Of airy fashion, where each step betrays, 
Still faultless hold thy course, intrepid fair, 
Nor quite forget thy surly friend 

THE BEAR. 



K 4 



136 



THE FAN. 

ADDRESSED TO A LADY IN 1802. 



The fan, as Syrian poets sing, 
Was first a radiant angel's wing. 
When heaven consign'd each mortal fair 
To some pure spirit's guardian care, 
When sun-beams slept on Eden's vale, 
The rustling pennon wak'd the gale ; 
And shed from every downy plume, 
At tepid noon, a sweet perfume. 
As softly smil'd each artless fair, 
Her angel left the fields of air, 
Sunk in the blushing nymph's embrace 
A mortal of terrestrial race. 

Hence, many an eastern bard can tell 
How for the fair the angels fell : 
And those who laugh at beauty's thrall, 
I ween, must like the angels fall. 



137 

Anacreon wish'd to be a dove, 
To flutter o'er his sleeping love ; 
To drink her humid breath, and blow 
The fresh gale o'er her breast of snow ; 
Breathe o'er her flushing cheek the breeze, 
Nay, be her fan the fair to please. — 
But I would be nor fan nor dove, 
I£ dearest, 1 might be thy love. 



138 



HEADACH. 

TO A LADY. 
WRITTBN IN 1802. 



That eye of soft cerulean hue, 
And clear as morn's transparent dew, 
Why dimly shines its lustre meek? 
Why fades the rose-bloom on that cheek, 
Whose varying hue was still the sign 
Of the warm heart's emotions fine ? 
Where softest tints were wont to glow, 
Why spreads the lily's veil of snow ? 
The tresses of her auburn hair 

O'er her pale brow disorder'd wave : 
Celestial guardians of the fair, 

Avails not now your power to save? 

When fall the trickling tears of grief, 
Like dew bells o'er the rose's leaf; 
And drops minute from every pore 
Shoot cold the shuddering forehead o'er ; 



139 

And every nerve that seeks the brain 
Conveys the thrilling surge of pain, 
The sages of the eastern climes, 

Who read the dark decrees of fate, 
Declare, that maidens expiate 
The penance of their venial crimes. — 
But sure no thought that heart hath known 
That guardian angels blush to own ; 
And every sigh that heaves that breast, 
With virtue's fairest seal imprest, 
Is pure as mountain gales that blow 
The fringed foliage of the snow. 

And, hark ! in soft regretful sighs, 
The guardian spirit's voice replies, 
" These eyes, that boast their power to kill, 
Deserve to feel the painful thrill. 
'Tis but the lover's lingering sigh, 
As the warm breath or humid air 
Obscures the brightest mirror's glare, 
That dims her lucid sparkling eye ; 
Her nerves but lightly feel the smart 
That rankles in the lover's heart." 



140 



TO AURELIA 

WRITTEN IN 1802. 



One kind kiss, my love, before 

We bid a long adieu ! 
Ah ! let not this fond heart deplore 

Thy cold cheek's pallid hue. 

One soft sweet smile before I go ! 

That fancy may repeat, 
And whisper, mid the sighs of woe, 

My love, we yet shall meet. 

One dear embrace, and then we part — 
We part to meet no more ! 

I bear a sad and lonely heart 
To pine on India's shore. 

A heart that once has lov'd like mine 
No second love can know ! 

A heart that once has throbb'd with thine 
Must other love forego. 



141 



SONNET. 

WRITTEN AT WOODHOUSELEE IN 1802. 



Sweet Riv'let ! as, in pensive mood reeling, 
Thy lone voice talking to the night I hear, 
Now swelling loud and louder on the ear, 

Now sinking in the pauses of the wind, 

A stilly sadness overspreads my mind, 

To think how oft the whirling gale shall strew 
O'er thy bright stream the leaves of sallow hue, 

Ere next this classic haunt my wanderings find. — 

That lulling harmony resounds again, 

That soothes the slumbering leaves on every tree, 
And seems to say — " Wilt thou remember me ?" 

The stream that listen'd oft to Ramsay's strain. 

Though Ramsay's pastoral reed be heard no more, 

Yet taste and fancy long shall linger on thy shore. 



142 



ELEGY 



ON A FRIEND KILLED IN THE WEST INDIES. 



Tis sad to linger in the church-yard lone, 
Where mouldering graves in dreary rows extend, 

To pause at every rudely sculptur'd stone, 
And read the name of a departed friend. 

Yet o'er the youthful friend's untimely grave 

'Tis sweet to pour the solitary tear ; 
And long the mourner haunts at fall of eve 

The narrow house of him that once was dear. 



The latest word, that feebly died away, 
Revisits oft the ear in accents weak ; 

The latest aspect of the unbreathing clay, 
The thin dew shining on the lifeless cheek. 



143 

The freezing crystal of the closing eye 
In fancy's waking dreams revives again : 

And when our bosoms heave the deepest sigh, 
A mournful pleasure mingles with the pain. 

While still, the glimmering beam of joy to cloud, 
Returns anew the wakeful sense of woe ; 

Again we seem to lift the fancied shroud, 
And view the sad procession moving slow. 

But o'er young Henry's bier no tear shall fall, 
Nor sad procession stretch its long array : 

For him no friendly hand shall lift the pall, 

Nor deck the greenwood turf that wraps his clay. 

Mid Caribbs as the brinded panther fierce, 
Far from his friends the youthful warrior fell ; 

The field of battle was his trophied hearse ; 
His dirge the Indian whoop's funereal knell. 

In youth he fell : — so falls the western flower 
Which gay at morn its purple petal rears, 

Till fainting in the noontide's sultry hour, 

Fades the fair blossom of an hundred years. * 

* The American aloe. 



144 

Unsooth'd by fame, to fond affection lost, 
Beneath the palm the youthful warrior lies ; 

And on the breeze from India's distant coast 
Sad fancy seems to hear his wafted sighs. 

Not this the promise of thy vernal prime ; — 
Mature of soul, and confident of fame, 

Thy heart presag'd with chiefs of elder time 
The sons of glory would record thy name. 

And must thou sink forgotten in the clay ? 

Thy generous heart in dumb oblivion lie ; 
Like the young star, that on its devious way 

Shoots from its bright companions in the sky ? 

Ah ! that this hand could strike the magic shell, 
And bid thy blighted laurel-leaves be green ! 

Ah ! that this voice in living strains could tell 
The future ages what thou wouldst have been ! 

It must not be — thine earthly course is run 

Sleep, sweetly sleep in Vincent's western isle ! 

I hopeless waste beneath the eastern sun, 

Nor can the charm of song the hours beguile. 



145 



Blest be the sanguine bier, for warriors meet, 

When no slow-wasting pangs their youth consume, 

They fearless wrap them in the winding-sheet, 
And for their country proudly meet their doom. 

And blest were I to yield this fleeting breath, 
And proud to wrap me in a blood-stain'd pall, 

So I might stand on glory's field of death 
'Mid mighty chiefs, and for my country fall. 



146 



DIRGE. 

ON A YOUNG BOY. 



Ah, vanish'd early from the view 
Of every friend who lov'd thee dear ! 

Reluctant is the last adieu, 

Sweet boy, we whisper round thy bier ! 

Now swift as morning beams shall fade 
Thy memory, as thou ne'er hadst been ; 

The smile that round thy features play'd 
Forgotten, ere thy grave be green. 

Thy mother wondering at the space, 
So vacant now, where thou shouldst be, 

In fancy views thy smiling face ; 
'Tis all that now remains of thee, 



147 



THE CELTIC PARADISE, 

OR 
GREEN ISLE OF THE WESTERN WAVES. 



On Flannan's rock, where spring perennial smiles, 
Beyond the verge of cold Ebuda's isles, 
(Where, as the labourer turns the sainted ground, 
The relics of a pigmy race are found ; 
A race who liv'd before the light of song 
Had pour'd its beams o'er days forgotten long;) 
A Druid dwelt, — at whose unclosing gate 
The spirits of the winds were wont to wait : 
Whether he bade the northern blasts disclose 
The ice-pil'd storehouse of the feathery snows ; 
Or the soft southern breezes fan the deep, 
And wake the flower-buds from their infant sleep : 
Whether he bade the clammy eastern rime 
Clog the young floweret in its silken prime ; 
Or round his isle the fleecy sea-mists wreath, 
Till e'en the wild-wood music ceas'd to breathe. 

L 2 



148 



Oft on the tempest's blackening wings he rode, 
And oft the deep's unsteady plain he trode ; 
Or, pillow'd on some green foam-crested surge, 
Securely slept within the ocean-verge. 

In his deep grot of green transparent spar, 
He mark'd the twinkling path of every star ; 
And, as new planets met his wondering gaze, 
Sigh'd o'er the narrow circle of his days. 
And when hoarse murmurs echoed through the wood. 
He blam'd the billows of the restless flood, 
Whose heaving wastes and weltering waves enclose 
The Western Isle where ancient chiefs repose. 

One day, while foaming white the waters rave, 
And hurl on high the hoarse-resounding wave, 
A pitch-black cloud above the surges hung ; 
Hoarse in its skirts the moaning tempest sung ; 
Skimming the deep it reach'd the Druid's grot, 
When its dark womb display'd a living boat. 
An hundred oars, self moving, brush the seas ; 
The milk-white sails bend forward to the breeze ; 
No human forms the glistening cordage bound, 
But shapes like moon-light shadows glancing round. 
Unusual terror seiz'd the aged seer, 
And soon these whisper'd accents reach'd his ear ; — 



149 



" The boat of heroes see, — no longer stay — 
Come to the fair Green Isle of those long past away !" 

He heard : — strange vigour strung each aged limb, 
He treads the air to ocean's echoing brim ; 
Embark'd, the breezes blow, o'er surges loud 
He rides ; while round him clings the pitchy cloud. 
Now seven times night had rais'd her ebon brow, 
And seven long days the sun shone dimly through ; 
On either side the wind's dull murmur past, 
And voices shrill roll'd wildly on the blast t 
But he no answer gave the shrieking dead, 
And clos'd in sleep his eye's unwearied lid. 
But when the next revolving morn drew nigh, 
The mounting foam-hills swell to touch the sky, 
They heave, they plunge, their shouldering heights* 

divide, 
And rock the reeling barge on every side : 
With pausing glimpse the dim uncertain light 
Fades, and loud voices rend the veil of night. 
Shouts each exulting voice ! " the Isle ! the Isle ! " 
Again in light the curling billows smile ; 
They part, and sudden on the sage's eyes 
The calm green fields of the departed rise. 

l 3 



150 



Mild glanc'd the light with no sun-flaring ray, 
A clear, a placid, and a purer day ; 
No flickering cloud betray'd the lurking storm, 
No shade bedimm'd each object's faultless form ; 
Before his sight, as dreams celestial smile, 
Spreads the green bosom of the Western Isle ; 
Where nearest objects glare not on the view, 
Nor distant dwindle indistinct and blue. 
Green sloping hills in spring eternal drest, 
Where fleecy clouds of bright transparence rest, 
Whose lucid folds the humid course reveal 
Of trickling rills, that from their bosoms steal, 
And down through streaks of deeper verdure glide, 
Melodious tinkling o'er the mountain's side ; 
While echo wafts their music wild and clear, 
Like breeze-touch'd harpings to the distant ear. 
As through the fragrant vales they linger slow, 
They feel no sultry suns of summer glow ; 
Nor rapid flooded by the pearly rain 
Impel the foamy deluge o'er the plain. 
As dews of morn distend the lily's bell, 
High in their beds the murmuring riv'lets swell. 
Beneath the whispering shade of orange trees, 
Where sloping valleys spread to meet the seas. 



151 



While round the crystal marge undazzling play 
With soften'd light the amber beams of day. 
The lingering sun from his meridian height 
Strews on these fair green fields his golden light, 
In western billows shrouds no more his head, 
Nor streaks again the morning sky with red. 



L 4 



152 



A LOVE TALE. 



A FRAGMENT. 



The glance of my love is mild and fair 

Whene'er she looks on me ; 
As the silver beams, in the midnight air, 
Of the gentle moon ; and her yellow hair 
On the gale floats wild and free. 

Her yellow locks flow o'er her back, 
And round her forehead twine ; 
I would not give the tresses that deck 
The blue lines of her snowy neck, 
For the richest Indian mine. 



153 

Her gentle face is of lily hue ; 

But whene'er her eye meets mine, 
The mantling blush on her cheek you view 
Is like the rose-bud wet with dew, 

When the morning sun-beams shine. 

" Why heaves your breast with the smother'd sigh ? 

" My dear love tell me true ! 
" Why does your colour come and fly, 
" And why, oh why is the tear in your eye ? 

" I ne'er lov'd maid but you. 

" True I must leave Zeania's dome, 

" And wander o'er ocean-sea ; 
" But yet, though far my footsteps roam, 
" My soul shall linger round thy home, 

" I'll love thee though thou love not me." 

She dried the tear with her yellow hair, 

And rais'd her watery eye, 
Like the sun with radiance soft and fair, 
That gleams thro' the moist and showery air 

When the white clouds fleck the sky. 



154> 

She rais'd her eye with a feeble smile, 

That through the tear-drops shone : 
Her look might the hardest heart beguile, — 
She sigh'd, as she press'd my hand the while, 
" Alas ! my brother John. 

" Ah me ! I lov'd my brother well 
" Till he went o'er the sea ; — 
" And none till now could ever tell 
" If joy or woe to the youth befel ; 
" But he will not return to me." 



155 



SONG 

OF A TELINGA DANCING GIRL. 

Addressed to an European Gentleman, in the Company 
of some European Ladies, in 1 803. 



Dear youth, whose features bland declare 
A milder, clime than India's air, 
These ardent glances hither turn ! 
For thee, for thee alone, I burn. 

Ah ! if these kindling eyes could see 
No dearer beauty here than me, 
I vow by this impassion'd sigh, 
For thee, for thee, would Rad'ha die ! 

Ah me ! where'er I turn my view, 
Bright rivals rise of fairer hue, 
Whose charms a milder sun declare. — 
Aii ! Rad'ha yields to sad despair. 



156 



THE BATTLE OF ASSAYE. 

WRITTEN IN 1803. 



Shout, Britons, for the battle of Assaye ! 
For that was a day 
When we stood in our array, 
Like the lion's might at bay, 

And our battle-word was " Conquer or die." 

Rouse ! rouse the cruel leopard from his lair. 
With his yell the mountain rings, 
And his red eye round he flings, 
As arrow-like he springs, 

And spreads his clutching paw to rend and tear. 

Then first array'd in battle-front we saw, 
Far as the eye could glance, 
The Mahratta banners dance 
O'er the desolate expanse ; 

And their standard was the leopard of Malwa. 



157 

But, when we first encounter'd man to man, 
Such odds came never on, 
Against Greece or Macedon, 
When they shook the Persian throne 

Mid the old barbaric pomp of Ispahan. 

No number'd might of living men could tame 
Our gallant band, that broke 
Through the bursting clouds of smoke, 
When the vollied thunder spoke 

From a thousand smouldering mouths of lurid 
flame. 

Hail Wellesley ! who led'st the martial fray ! - 

Amid the locust swarm, 

Dark fate was in thine arm ; 

And his shadow shall alarm 
The Mahratta when he hears thy name for aye. 

Ah ! mark these British corses on the plain ! — 
Each vanish'd like a star 
Mid the dreadful ranks of war, 
While their foemen stood afar, 

And gaz'd with silent terror at the slain. 



158 

Shout Britons, for the battle of Assaye ! — 
Ye who perish'd in your prime, 
Your hallow'd names sublime 
Shall live to endless time ! 

For heroic worth and fame shall never die. 



159 



ODE ON LEAVING VELORE. 

WRITTEN IN 1804. 



Farewell Velura's moat-girt towers, 

Her rocky mountains huge and high, 
Each giant cliff* that darkly lowers 

In sullen shapeless majesty ! 

And thou, tall mount, * that from the sky 
Usurp' st a proud, a sacred name ; 

Whose peak, by pilgrims seldom trod, 

The silent throne of nature's God 
Thine awe-struck devotees proclaim ! 

Thee too we hail with reverence meet, 

Dread mountain ! f on whose granite breast 

The stamp of Buddha's lotus-feet 
The kneeling Hindu views imprest. 
The mango on thy hoary crest, 

* Kailasaghur, the mount of heaven. The name of a very 
high hill in sight of Velore. 

f A mountain near Velore, on the top of which is the mark 
of a footstep, said to be that of father Adam by the Mussul- 



160 

Thy winding caverns dark and rude, 
The tomb of him who sleeps alone, 
O'er-canopied with living stone, 

Amid the mountain-solitude. 

Thy fame is vanish'd like a dream ; 

Now Islam's hermit-sons from far, 
Primeval Adam's footsteps deem 

The traces of thine Avatar. 

Not such when his triumphal car 
By torch-light led the proud array ; 

When, as the priests the chorus sung, 

Thy caves with central thunders rung, 
And pour'd o'er prostrate crowds dismay. 

While he — whose soul sublime aspir'd 
The dark decrees of fate to know, 

Deep in these vaulted caves retir'd, 

To watcn the strange symbolic show, — 
Around his head red lightnings gleam, 

And wild mysterious accents swell : — 
But, what the voice of thunder spoke, 
Within the caverns of the rock, 

No mortal tongue could live and tell. 



mans, but which is really a vestige of Buddha. Deep in the 
mountain is a tremendous cavern, formerly used for religious 
ceremonies and initiations in the mysteries. 



1G1 

Farewell, ye cliffs and ruin'd fanes ! 

Ye mountains tall, and woodlands green ! 
Where every rock my step detains, 

To mark where ancient men have been. 

Yet not for this I muse unseen, 
Beside that river's bed of sand ; * 

Here first, my pensive soul to cheat, 

Fancy pourtray'd in visions sweet 
The mountains of my native land. 

Still as I gaze, these summits dun 
A softer livelier hue display, 

Such as beneath a milder sun 

Once charm'd in youth's exulting day, — 
Where harmless fell the solar ray 

In golden radiance on the hill, 

And murmuring slow the rocks between, 
Or through long stripes of fresher green, 

Was heard the tinkling mountain-rill. 

Soft as the lov'd illusions glow, 

New lustre lights the faded eye ; 
Again the flowers of fancy blow, 

Which shrunk beneath the burning sky. 

To aguey pen and forest fly 

* The course of a torrent near Velore, dry in the hot season. 



162 

The night-hag fever's shuddering brood; 

And now, with powers reviv'd anew, 

I bid Velura's towers adieu ! 
Adieu, her rocks and mountains rude ! 

And thou ! with whom the sultry day 
Unnoted pass'd in converse bland ! 

Or when thy lyre some witching lay 

Would wake beneath thy magic hand ; — 
(Wild as the strains of fairy-land 

It threw its numbers on the breeze ] 
Soft as the love-sick mermaid's plaint, 
That breathes at summer evenings faint, 

And dies along the crisping seas — ) * 

Dear youth, farewell ! whose accents wake 
Fond thoughts of friends I view no more, 

Since first, to furrow ocean's lake, 
I left the cliffs of Albion's shore. 
Amid the wilds of grey Mysore 

For thee the frequent sigh shall swell, 
When rise Velura's massy towers, 
Her hills and palm-encircled bowers 

To fancy's view. Again farewell ! — 

* Allusive to some fairy songs, set to wild and impressive 
airs by W. Linley, Esq. 



163 



ODE TO AN INDIAN GOLD COIN. 

t t 

WRITTEN IN CHERICAL, MALABAR. 



Slave of the dark and dirty mine ! 

What vanity has brought thee here ? 
How can I love to see thee shine 

So bright, whom I have bought so dear ? — 

The tent-ropes flapping lone I hear 
For twilight-converse, arm in arm ; 

The jackal's shriek bursts on mine ear 
When mirth and music wont to charm. 

By Cherical's dark wandering streams, 

Where cane-tufts shadow all the wild, 

Sweet visions haunt my waking dreams 
Of Teviot lov'd while still a child, 
Of castled rocks stupendous pil'd 

By Esk or Eden's classic wave, 

Where loves of youth and friendships smiPd, 

Uncurs'd by thee, vile yellow slave ! 
m 2 



164 

Fade, day-dreams sweet, from memory fade ! - 

The perish'd bliss of youth's first prime, 
That once so bright on fancy play'd, 

Revives no more in after-time. 

Far from my sacred natal clime, 
I haste to an untimely grave ; 

The daring thoughts that soar'd sublime 
Are sunk in ocean's southern wave. 

Slave of the mine ! thy yellow light 

Gleams baleful as the tomb-fire drear. — 
A gentle vision comes by night 

My lonely widow'd heart to cheer ; 

Her eyes are dim with many a tear, 
That once were guiding stars to mine : 

Her fond heart throbs with many a fear ! 
I cannot bear to see thee shine. 

For thee, for thee, vile yellow slave, 

I left a heart that lov'd me true ! 
I cross'd the tedious ocean-wave, 

To roam in climes unkind and new. 

The cold wind of the stranger blew 
Chill on my wither'd heart : — the grave 

£)ark and untimely met my view — 
And all for thee, vile yellow slave ! 



165 



Ha ! com'st thou now so late to mock 

A wanderer's banish'd heart forlorn, 
Now that his frame the lightning shock 

Of sun-rays tipt with death has borne ? 

From love, from friendship, country, torn, 
To memory's fond regrets the prey, 

Vile slave, thy yellow dross I scorn I — 
Go mix thee with thy kindred clay ! 



m 3 



166 



ADDRESS TO MY MALAY KREES. 

WRITTEN 
WHILE PURSUED BY A FRENCH PRIVATEER OFF SUMATRA. 



Where is the arm I well could trust 
To urge the dagger in the fray ? 

Alas ! how powerless now its thrust, 
Beneath Malaya's burning day ! 

The sun has withered in their prime 

The nerves that once were strong as steel 

Alas ! in danger's venturous time 

That I should live their loss to feel ! 

Yet still my trusty Krees prove true, 

If e'er thou serv'dst at need the brave, 

And thou shalt wear a crimson hue, 
Or I shall win a watery grave. 



167 

Now let thine edge like lightning glow, 
And, second but thy master's will, 

Malay ne'er struck a deadlier blow, 
Though practis'd in the art to kill. 

O ! by thy point ! for every wound 

Where trace of Frankish blood hath been, 

A golden circle shall surround 

Thy hilt of agate smooth and green. 

My trusty Krees now play thy part, 

And second well thy master's will ! 

And I will wear thee next my heart, 

And many a life-blood owe thee still. 



m 4 



168 



CHRISTMAS IN PENANG. 

WRITTEN IN 1804*. 



Dear Nona, Christmas comes from far 
To seek us near the eastern star, 
But wears not, in this orient elime, 
Her wintry wreaths and ancient thyme. - 
What flowerets must we strew to thee, 
For glossy bay or rosemary ? 

Champaca flowers for thee we strew, 
To drink the merry Christmas dew : 
Though hail'd in each Malayan grove 
The saffron-tinted flower of love, 
Its tulip-buds adorn the hair 
Of none more lov'd amid the fair. 



169 

Banana leaves their ample screen 
Shall spread, to match the holly green. 
Well may their glossy softness please, 
Sweet emblem of the soul at ease, 
The heart expanding frank and free, 
Like the still-green Banana tree. 

Nona, may all the woodland powers 
That stud Malaya's clime with flowers, 
Or on the breeze their fragrance fling, 
Around thee form an angel ring, 
To guard thee ever gay and free, 
Beneath thy green Banana tree ! 



170 



DIRGE OF THE DEPARTED YEAR. 

To Olivia. 

WRITTEN IN 1806. 



Malaya's woods and mountains ring 
With voices strange but sad to hear ; 

And dark unbodied spirits sing 
The dirge of the departed year. 

Lo ! now, methinks, in tones sublime, 
As viewless o'er our heads they bend, 

They whisper, " thus we steal your time, 
Weak mortals ! till your days shall end. 

Then wake the dance, and wake the song, 
Resound the festive mirth and glee ! 

Alas ! the days have pass'd along, 
The days we never more shall see. 



171 

But let me brush the nightly dews, 
Beside the shell-depainted shore, 

And mid the sea-weeds sit to muse 
On days that shall return no more. 

Olivia, ah ! forgive the bard, 

If sprightly strains alone are dear : 

His notes are sad, for he has heard 
The footsteps of the parting year. 

Mid friends of youth, belov'd in vain, 
Oft have I hail'd this jocund day. 

If pleasure brought a thought of pain, 
I charm'd it with a passing lay. 

Friends of my youth, for ever dear, 
Where are you from this bosom fled ? 

A lonely man I linger here, 

Like one that has been long time dead. 

Fore-dooni'd to seek an early tomb, 

For whom the pallid grave-flowers blow, 

I hasten on my destin'd doom, 
And sternly mock at joy or woe. 



172 

Yet, while the circling year returns, 

Till years to me return no more, 
Still in my breast affection burns 

With purer ardour than before. 

Departed year ! thine earliest beam, 

When first it grac'd thy splendid round, 

Beheld me by the Caveri's stream, 
A man unblest on holy ground. 

With many a lingering step and slow, 

I left Mysura's hills afar, 
Through Curga's rocks I past below, 

To trace the lakes of Malabar. 

Sweet Malabar ! thy suns, that shine 

With soften'd light through summer showers, 

Might charm a sadder soul than mine 
To joy amid thy lotus-flowers. 

For each sweet scene I wander'd o'er, 
Fair scenes that shall be ever dear, 

From Curga's hills to Travencore — 
I hail thy steps, departed year 1 



173 

But chief that in this eastern isle, 

Girt by the green and glistering wave, 

Olivia's kind endearing smile 

Seem'd to recall me from the grave. 

When, far beyond Malaya's sea, 
I trace dark Soonda's forests drear, 

Olivia ! I shall think of thee ; — 
And bless thy steps, departed year ! 

Each morn or evening spent with thee 
Fancy shall mid the wilds restore 

In all their charms, and they shall be 
Sweet days that shall return no more. 

Still may'st thou live in bliss secure, 
Beneath that friend's protecting care, 

And may his cherish'd life endure 
Long, long, thy holy love to share. 

Penang, 
Jan. 1806. 



174 



VERSES 

WRITTEN AT THE ISLAND OF SAGUR, IN THE MOUTH 
OF THE GANGES, IN 1807. 



On sea-girt Sagur's desert isle,' 

Mantled with thickets dark and dun, 

May never moon or starlight smile, 
Nor ever beam the summer sun ! — 
Strange deeds of blood have there been done, 

In mercy ne'er to be forgiven ; 

Deeds the far-seeing eye of heaven 
Veiled his radiant orb to shun. 

To glut the shark and crocodile 
A mother brought her infant here : 

She saw its tender playful smile, 
She shed not one maternal tear ; — 
She threw it on a waterv bier : — 

With grinding teeth sea monsters tore 

The smiling infant which she bore : — 
She shrunk not once its cries to hear ! 



175 

Ah ! mark that victim wildly drest, 

His streaming beard is hoar and grey, 

Around him floats a crimson vest, 

Red-flowers his matted locks array. — 
Heard you these brazen timbrels bray ? 

His heart-blood on the lotus-flower 

They offer to the Evil Power ; 

And offering turn their eyes away. 

Dark Goddess of the iron mace, * 

Flesh-tearer ! quaffing life-blood warm, 

The terrors of thine awful face 

The pulse of mortal hearts alarm. — 
Grim Power ! if human woes can charm, 

Look to the horrors of the flood, 

Where crimson'd Ganga shines in blood, 
And man-devouring monsters swarm. 

Skull-chaplet-wearer ! whom the blood 
Of man delights a thousand years, 

Than whom no face, by land or flood, 
More stern and pitiless appears, 

* Kali. 



176 

Thine is the cup of human tears. 
For pomp of human sacrifice 
Cannot the cruel blood suffice 

Of tigers, which thine island rears ? 

Not all blue Ganga's mountain-flood, 

That rolls so proudly round thy fane, 

Shall cleanse the tinge of human blood, 
Nor wash dark Sagur's impious stain : 
The sailor, journeying on the main, 

Shall view from far the dreary isle, 

And curse the ruins of the pile 

Where Mercy ever sued in vain. 



177 



VERSES 

ON THE DEATH OF NELSON. 



How dark the cloud of fate impends ! 

That canopies the ocean-plain ! 
How red the shower of blood descends, 

Till Nelson lies amid the slain. — 

Then pauses battle's awful reign : - — 
As warriors strive the tear to hide. 

Wild shuddering shoots along the purple main 
The main by mighty Nelson's heart-blood dyed. 

Blood of the brave ! thou art not lost 

Amid the waste of waters blue ! 
The waves that roll to Albion's coast, 

Shall proudly boast their sanguine hue ; 

And thou shalt be the vernal dew 
To foster valour's daring seed. 

The generous plant shall still its stock renew, 
And hosts of heroes rise when one shall bleed. 

N 



178 



Great Nelson ! o'er thy battle-bier 

Soft shall the maids of Albion smile ; 
For thee shall fall no woman-tear, 

Victorious hero of the Nile ! 

Reversing o'er thy funeral pile 
The flags of Denmark, France, and Spain, 

The martial youth of Britain's generous isle 
In hymns shall hail thee " Conqueror of the Main." — 

O ! thou hast fallen as warriors ought, 

Iberia's banner beaten down, 
Nor, till the glorious deed was wrought, 

Forsook thy comrades of renown. 

When many a lingering year is flown, 
Shall Britons mark the fateful day, 

When Victory brought her fadeless laurel crown, 
And bore thee in immortal arms away. — 

You, ancient chiefs of deathless praise, 

From high celestial thrones, behold ! 
Say, deem you not our modern days 

Shall match the mighty years of old ? 

Long has the tide of ages roll'd 
And brought no rival to your fame : 

But now, whene'er your wonderous deeds are told, 
Your's shall but rank with mighty Nelson's name. 



179 

How dark the cloud of war impends ! 

How wide the bursting tempest flies ! 
How red the rain of blood descends, 

Till Nelson mid the carnage lies ! 

Red days have flash'd from angry skies — 
No common eye can bear to gaze — 

But eagle-souls like Nelson's love to rise, 
And soaring drink the broad meridian blaze. 



n 2 



180 



TO MR. JAMES PURVIS. 



Purvis, when on this eastern strand 
With glad surprise 1 grasp thy hand, 
And memory's, fancy's, powers employ 
In the form'd man to trace the boy ; 
How many dear illusions rise, 
And scenes long faded from my eyes, 
Since first our bounding steps were seen 
Active and light on Denholm's * level green ! 

Playmate of boyhood's ardent prime ! 
Rememberest thou, in former time 
How oft we bade, in fickle freak, 
Adieu to Latin terms and Greek, 



* Denholm is a village in Roxburghshire, beautifully situated on 
the Teviot. The " Dean" is a handsome seat in the neighbourhood. 
The " Gavin," alluded to with such kindly regret, was a Mr. Gavin 
Turnbull, a young man of much promise, who died soon after hi* 
arrival in India. 



181 

To trace the banks where blackbirds sung, 
And ripe brown nuts in clusters hung, 
Where tangled hazels twined a screen 
Of shadowy boughs in Denholm's mazy Dean ? 

Rememberest thou, in youthful might 
Who foremost dared the mimic fight, 
And, proud to feel his sinews strung, 
Aloft the knotted cudgel swung ; 
Or fist to fist, with gore embrued, 
The combat's wrathful strife pursued, 
With eager heart, and fury keen, 
Amid the ring on Denholm's bustling green ? 

Yes, it was sweet, till fourteen years 
Had circled with the rolling spheres. 
Then round our heads the tempest sleet 
Of fretful cares began to beat ; 
As to our several paths we drew, 
The cold wind of the stranger blew 
Cold on each face — and hills between 
Our step uptower'd and Denholm's lovely green. 

When the gay shroud and swelling sail 
Bade each bold bosom court the gale ; 
n 3 



The first that tried the eastern sea 
Was Gavin, gentle youth, was he ! 
His yellow locks fann'd by the breeze, 
Gleam'd golden on the orient seas : 
But never shall his steps be seen 
Bounding again on Denholm's pleasant green. 

We both have seen the ruddy tide 
Of battle surging fierce and wide ; 
And mark'd with firm unconquer'd soul 
The blackest storms of ocean roll ; 
While many a sun-ray, tipt with death, 
Has fall'n like lightning on our path ; 
Yet, if a bard presage aright, I ween, 
We both shall live to dance once more on Denholm's 
green. 



183 



ODE ON THE BATTLE OF CORUNNA. 

WRITTEN IN 1809. 



Forward, ye dauntless heirs of fame ; 
Stand forth your country's rights to save ! 

Again a chief of glorious name 

Has sought the mansions of the brave. 
Who next shall rear in combat high 
Our banners, and the foe defy, 

Till battling fields are red with gore ? 
For many a field with death shall groan, 
Ere heaps of slaughtered Franks atone 

Our high revenge for dauntless Moor£. 

Lo ! I arraign thee, Leon old, 

With proud Castile, the boast of Spain, 

For cavaliers and warriors bold ! — 
Here I impeach thee, hill and plain, 
Thy airy pennons glancing green, 
Long borne in fight by barons keen 
N 4 



184 

By Carrion and old Douro's stream ! — 
Where were you when an hour of pause 
Was treason to your own good cause, 

Which valour's self shall scarce redeem ? 

He pauses not — to Douro's side 
Moves on the firm undaunted band ; 

And lo ! by foes encompassed wide, 
Moore stands alone on Spanish land. 
As seaward bends his long array, 
The Gallic wolf from day to day 

Scowls on his route with distant awe : 
Distant he prowls, but shrinks to wait 
The close-encountering shock of fate •— 

To face the lion's rending paw. 

The iron king, supreme in war, 

Whose look bids armies melt away, 

Like death's dark spectre gloom'd from far, 
And first in battle felt dismay. 
He thought of Acre's dreadful strife, 
That reft his bravest hearts of life, 

And bade his battle-star look pale, 

WTiile bright the waning crescent grew, 
And Sydney's still unconquer'd crew 

Made his proud soaring eagles quail. 



185 

Gallicia's hills are rising near, 

The foes are pressing, swarming nigh ; 

Ah ! how shall souls that mock at fear 
Endure before their taunts to fly? 
Ne'er may I live that day to see, 
When Scotland's banners fair and free 

Shall shun to face the fiercest fray : 
No, let her pipes indignant blow, 
And turn her broad-swords on the foe ! — 

Fear not, her clans shall hew their way. 

And turn they shall — for who is he, 
With myriads mustering at his back, 

Who boasts to plunge them in the sea, 
And foremost heads the fell attack ? 
Ha ! stern Dalmatia's lord 'tis thou ! 
The laurels on that haughty brow 

Are doom'd to wither, dry and sere : 

These blood be-sprinkled wreaths of thine, 
Are doom'd to grace a nobler shrine, 

To crown our hero's martial bier. — 

O vain of prowess ! whence the boast 
That swells thy heart to talk so proud ? 

Though hangs thy far out-numbering host 
Above them like a thunder-cloud, 



186 

Full many a hero bold and tall 

Whose souls thy vaunts shall ne'er appal, 

Eager and panting for the fray, 
Shall to the lists of death descend, 
Whom, chief, thy battle ne'er shall bend 

To yield, for life, an inch of way. 

As waves redoubling dash the shore, 
Descends to death each iron line ; 

And high the haughty eagles soar, 

As towers mid storms the mountain-pine ; 
Harsh rings the steel, with fruitless toil 
They burst — they break, and wide recoil, 

With banners rent and standards torn ; — 
As mountain forests, quelTd by age, 
Crash in the whirlwind's sweeping rage, 

Afar their shatter'd ranks are borne. 

Now turn we to Corunna's steep, 

And mark that tomb beside the shore ; 

There, in his blood-stained arms, shall sleep 
To future times the hero Moore : 
There, in stern valour's generous glow, 
Each manly heart shall melt with woe 



187 

For Moore, in freedom's battle slain ; 
While soft shall float the maiden's sigh, 
And gentle tears from beauty's eye 

Bedew his grave who died for Spain. 



188 



PORTUGUEZE HYMN. 

TO THE VIRGIN MARY, « THE STAR OF THE SEA." 

WRITTEN AT SEA, ON BOARD THE SHIP SANTO ANTONIO. 



Star of the wide and pathless sea, 

Who lov'st on mariners to shine. 
These votive garments wet, to thee, 

We hang within thy holy shrine. 

When o'er us flash'd the surging brine, 
Amid the waving waters tost, 

We called no other name but thine, 
And hop'd when other hope was lost. 

Ave Maris Stella ! 

Star of the vast and howling main ! 

When dark and lone is all the sky, 
And mountain-waves o'er ocean's plain 

Erect their stormy heads on high, 



189 

When virgins for their true-loves sigh 
They raise their weeping eyes to thee ; — 

The Star of ocean heeds their cry, 
And saves the foundering bark at sea. 

Ave Maris Stella ! 

Star of the dark and stormy sea ! 

When wrecking tempests round us rave. 
Thy gentle virgin-form we see 

Bright rising o'er the hoary wave, 

The howling storms that seem'd to crave 
Their victims, sink in music sweet; 

The surging seas recede to pave 
The path beneath thy glistening feet. 

Ave Maris Stella ! 

Star of the desart waters wild, 

Who pitying hears't the seaman's cry ! 
The God of mercy as a child 

On that chaste bosom loves to lie ; 

While soft the chorus of the sky 
Their hymns of tender mercy sing, 

And angel voices name on high 
The mother of the heavenly king. 

Ave Maris Stella ! 



190 

Star of the deep ! at that blest name 

The waves sleep silent round the keel, 
The tempests wild their fury tame, 

That made the deep's foundations reel ; 

The soft celestial accents steal 
So soothing through the realms of woe, 

The newly-damn'd a respite feel 
From torture in the depths below. 

Ave Maris Stella ! 

Star of the mild and placid seas ! 

Whom rain-bow rays of mercy crown, 
Whose name thy faithful Portugueze, 

O'er all that to the depths go down, 

With hymns of grateful transport own, 
When clouds obscure all other light, 

And heaven assumes an awful frown, 
The Star of ocean glitters bright. 

Ave Maris Stella ! 

Star of the deep ! when angel lyres 

To hymn thy holy name assay, 
In vain a mortal harp aspires 

To mingle in the mighty lay ; 



191 

Mother of God ! one living ray 
Of hope our grateful bosoms fires — 

When storms and tempests pass away, 
To join the bright immortal choirs. 

Ave Maris Stella ! 



192 



FINLAND SONG. 



ADDRESSED BY A MOTHER TO HER CHILD. 



Sweet bird of the meadow, oh, soft be thy rest ! 
Thy mother will wake thee at morn from thy nest ; 
She has made a soft nest, little red- breast, for thee, 
Of the leaves of the birch and the moss of the tree. 
Then soothe thee, sweet bird of my bosom, once more ! 
'Tis Sleep, little infant, that stands at the door. — 
" Where is the sweet babe," you may hear how he cries, 
" Where is the sweet babe in his cradle that lies, 
" In his cradle, soft swaddled in vestments of down ? 
" 'Tis mine to watch o'er him till darkness be flown." 



193 



ELEGIAC ODE 

AT THE RETURN OF THE PARENTALIA, OR 
FEAST OF THE DEAD. 

IMITATED FROM AUSONIUS. 



When friends of youth, departed long, 
Return to memory's pensive view* 

'Tis sweet to chaunt the votive song, 
A meed to fond affection due. 

But grief, which fancy dreads to sing, 

And deep heart-rending sighs return, 

When slow revolve the months that bring 
The flowers to lost Sabina's urn. 

Ah ! first belov'd ! in youth's fair bloom 
From these sad arms untimely torn, — 

Still lingering by thy lonely tomb, 
Thee, lost Sabina, still I mourn ! 
o 



194 

The tear at last may cease to flow, 

But time can ne'er my peace restore ; 

If e'er this bosom pause from woe, 
'Tis only when I thee deplore. 

Ne'er has oblivious length of days 

Conceal'd thy form from memory's view, 
Nor e'er did second love erase 

The lines which first affection drew. 

Through my sad home, of thee bereft, 

I linger silent and alone, 
No friend to share my joy is left, 

Or sooth my grief, since thou art gone. 

While others in their cheerful home 

Their loves of youth enamour'd see, 

Beside the lonely grave I roam, 
And only can remember thee. 

For pleasures lost, for fortmie's scorn, 
Ne'er have I shed the useless tear, 

But hoary age laments forlorn 

The maid to first affection dear. 



195 

Though, hallow'd by thy parting prayer, 
Thy sons exult in youth's fair bloom, 

Yet left too soon, they ne'er can share 

The fond regret that haunts thy tomb. 

For thee my woes I sacred hold, 

No heart shall steal a sigh from mine, 
Till in the common crumbling mould 

Mine ashes mingle yet with thine. 



2 



196 



THE SAUL TREE. 

from bayer's latin version of the Chinese. 



While mortal eye can hardly mark 

Young spring's escape from winter keen, 

The Saul along her yellow bark 
Expands a robe of vivid green. 

Her simple garb, her sweet array, 

Soon as the proud pomegranate views, 

Her radiant flowers, that bloom so gay, 
With envy on the ground she strews. 

Sweet Saul, that still preced'st the spring ! 

Thy silky veil no insect weaves ; 
Thyself a finer web canst fling 

Around thy boughs and downy leaves. 



197 



FROM OWEN'S LATIN EPIGRAMS. 

Usque fluit fugitivus amor, refluitque vicissim, &c, . 



Love for ever comes and goes, 
Like the tide that ebbs and flows. — 
Wonder est thou that this should be ? 
Sprung not Venus from the sea ? 

Venus, ever wont to rove 
With men below and Gods above, 
With changeful aspect shines afar, 
Not a fix'd, but wandering star. 



o 3 



198 



EPITAPH, 



FROM THE LATIN. 



Once in the keen pursuit of fame 

I, school-boy-like, pursued a bubble : 

But Death, before I gain'd a name, 

Stept in and sav'd a world of trouble. 



199 



THE DREAM, 

FROM THE LATIN OF J. LEOCH. 

Addressed to Drummond of Hawthornden. 



Lov'd of the Muse, to Venus dear, 
My Drummond, lend thy partial ear ! 
Thou, gifted bard, canst best explain 
The dreams which haunt a poet's brain. 

Ere night's bright wain her course had run, 

Venus to me, and Venus' son, 

Descending in a radiant car, 

Rapt from the earth, and bore me far. 

Billing sparrows twittering clear 

Drew us on our swift career ; 

The lovely goddess all the while, 

Glow'd with pleasure's wanton smile ; 

O'er her hovered all the Graces, 

Sighs and kisses, and embraces : 

o 4> 



200 

Around her son, in vesture bright, 
Hopes and murmurs flutter'd light ; 
With every form of melting bliss, 
That breathes or sucks the humid kiss, 

Swimming on the moon-beams pale, 
Soon we reach'd sweet Tempe's vale. 
Zephyrs, fluttering o'er the strand, 
Bade every glowing flower expand : 
While the nightingale on high 
Pour'd her liquid melody. 

O'er the level lawn we flew ; 

The grove's deep shadow round us grew 

Deep within a soft retreat, 

Flow'd a spring with murmur sweet. 

" Here be all thine offering done," — 
Softly whisper'd Venus' son : 
" Here let clouds of incense rise," — 
Venus whisper'd, " to the skies." 

From the chariot light I sprung; 
Shrill the golden axle rung. 
Kneeling by the crystal spring, 
Every Naiad's charms I sing > 



201 

Echo wafts their praises wide, 
But chief the Naiads of the tide. 

" Goddess of the stream attend ! 
O'er thy wave I suppliant bend ; 
Grant thy spring may ever be 
Dear to Venus and to me !" 

As I bent the waves to kiss, 
Murmurs rose of softer bliss ; 
For the fountain's liquid face 
I feel the timid Nymph's embrace ; 
Glow and pant my labouring veins, 
As her ivory arms she strains ; 
While the melting kiss she sips, 
The soul sits quivering on my lips. 
Sudden, from our watery bed 
Venus slily smiling fled ; 
With her sought the shady grove 
The smiling, dimpling God of love. 
Loud through all its dusky bounds, 
" Hylas ! a second Hylas," sounds ; 
While the vision fled in air, 
And left the bard to lone despair. 



202 

By every smiling God above, 
By the maid you dearest love, 
Drummond to all the Muses dear, 
Lend to thy friend thy partial ear ! 
Thou, gifted bard, canst best explain 
This dream that haunts the poet's brain. 



203 



John Leoch the correspondent of Drummond the poet, 
published his Musce Priores at London in 1620, on his 
return from his travels. He appears to have been born in 
Mar, and to have been the son of a clergyman. In one of 
his eclogues he complains of having been deprived of part 
of his patrimony by the Duke of Lennox. He studied phi- 
losophy at Aberdeen ; and, when at Poictiers, applied to civil 
law. After his return to Britain he lived in habits of fami- 
liarity with all the Scottish wits of the age, as Scot of Scots- 
tarvet ; Drummond of Hawthornden, whom he sometimes 
terms " Spinifer Damon ;" Alexander, Earl of Stirling ; 
Seton, Earl of Dumfermline; and Hamilton, Earl of Melrose. 
He dedicates his love-poems to William, Earl of Pembroke, 
nephew of Sir Philip Sydney. His Musce Priores, the verses 
of which sometimes possess considerable elegance and fluency 
of style, consist of his Erotica, or love verses, written in 
imitation of the antient models ; his Idyllia ; and his Epigram- 
mata. He defends the freedom of some of his love-verses 
by the old apology of Catullus, that his life was chaste, 
though his verse was wanton : or, as Goldsmith expresses 
it, " His conduct still right, and his argument wrong." In 
the preface to his Idyllia he claims some degree of merit 
for the variety as well as for the originality of his style. 
« Quotus enim quisque est, qui tarn varia in hoc genere 
aggressus? namque, ut Bucolica excipias, in quibus non 
pauci ; quis, oro, prseter Sannazarium, Piscatorias Eclogas ; 
ouis prseter Hugonem Grotium, Nauticas tentavit ? et illius 



204 



(quod dolori maximo esse possit) ecquid praeter unicum 
Nauticum exstat Idyllium ? in Ampelicis, nullus, quod sciam. 
Hactenus primus ego illas aggressus, nondum tamen ingres- 
sus.'* — The Ampelic eclogue, or Song of the Vintagers, was 
probably attempted in imitation of the Italians. A long 
poem in this style was composed by Tansillo, and denomi- 
nated ct II Vendemmiatore." 

On the departure of our author from Paris in 1620, a 
poetical address was published, and inscribed to him, under 
the title of " Sylva Leochae suo sacra, sive Lycidae Desi- 
derium,' , a Georgio Camerario Scoto j Paris, 1620. 



205 



THE CRETAN WARRIOR, 

FROM HYBRIAS CRETENSIS. 



My spear, my sword, my shaggy shield ! 

With these I till, with these I sow : 
With these I reap my harvest-field ; 

No other wealth the Gods bestow* 
With these I plant the fertile vine ; 
With these I press the luscious wine. 

My spear, my sword, my shaggy shield ! 

They make me lord of all below, — 
For those that dread my spear to wield 

Before my shaggy shield must bow : 
Their fields, their vineyards they resign ; 
And all that cowards have is mine. 



20(i 



ODE TO VIRTUE, 

IMITATED FROM THE GREEK OF ARISTOTLE. 

(Written on the death of General Frazer, killed at the battle of Deeg.) 



Stern Virtue, unappall'd by toil, 

To mortal man the noblest prize ! 
For thee the chiefs of Albion's soil 

By envied death to glory rise. 
Inspir'd by thee, their souls disdain 
Intolerable toil and pain, 

Beneath the noontide's sultry star : 
When fell Mahrattas, on the fervid plain, 
Bend fainting o'er each fervid courser's mane, 

They rush impetuous to the charge of war. 

For thee the sons of Albion bore 

Woes that no mortal tongue can tell ; 

For thee, on India's dusky shore 

They nobly fought and proudly fell. 



207 

For thee, brave Frazer sunk below; — 
For him no more the sunbeams glow ; 

Yet lives his worth on India's strand ; 
And long on Albion's shore the warrior's fame 
To future ages shall bequeath his name, 

The pride, the glory of his native land. 



208 



ON 

SEEING AN EAGLE 

PERCHED ON THE TOMBSTONE OF ARISTOMENES, 

THE PALAFOX OF MESSENe'. 



*' Majestic Bird ! so proud and fierce, 
Why tower'st thou o'er that warrior's hearse ?" 
" I tell each godlike earthly king, 
Far as o'er birds of every wing 
Supreme the lordly eagle sails, 
Great Aristomenes prevails. 

Let timid doves, with plaintive cry 
Coo o'er the graves where cowards lie ; 
'Tis o'er the dauntless hero's breast 
The kingly eagle loves to rest." 



209 



TO 

A YOUNG LADY. 

FROM THE GREEK OF IBYCUS. 



Euryale, sweet bud of youth, 

Of every fair-hair'd blue-eyed grace 

The darling care, while candid truth 

Beams in that open blooming face ! 

Persuasion soft, with eye-brows mild, 

Delights to tend thy youthful hours : 

And love's sweet Goddess from a child 
Has nurs'd thee in her rosy bowers. 



210 



FROM MNESIMACHUS. 

SPEECH OF ONE OF THE ANCIENT GRECIAN BOBADILS. * 



But, gentle warrior, wot you right, 
With whom you press to wage the fight ? 
On temper'd sabre-blades we dine, 
The flambeau's fiery breath our wine ; 
For sallad, at the fell desert, 
Comes in the biting Cretan dart ; 
For cresses, each attendant bears 
The splinter'd points of sharpen'd spears ; 
The bossy shield and buckler's round, 
Our pillows on the flinty ground ; 
Bows, slings, beneath our feet are strown, 
Our heads huge catapultas crown. 

* See the Gentle Bachelor, in Way's Fabliaux, vol. i. and the 
notes, page 225. 



211 



FROM TYRT^EUS. 



What ! shall the stern unbending race 

Of Hercules, in peril's day, 
Fall basely back, ere Jove's dread face 

With hostile glance our files surrey ? 

Repel this idle javelin play, 
Firm as a wall your bucklers lock ! 

Shall numbers manly hearts dismay ? 
Be bold, press forward to the shock \ 

Deem dastard life your deadly foe, 

Though round you close the shadows dun 
Of murky death ; the realms below 

Shall match the regions of the sun. 

Yet think, when former fields were won, 
How proudly toils and wounds we bore ! 

When war's red tide against us run, 
How bitter stung each burning sore ! 
p 2 



212 

Few heroes bleed who boldly claim 

The perils of the dangerous van ; 
The rearward legions catch the flame, 

And follow, man upholding man. — 

Wild panics dastard hearts trepan, 
Disasters rise devoid of cure ; 

Whoe'er from battle basely ran, 
Has borne what man should ne'er endure. 

Scorn on the coward-wretch who bears 

From fields of death a hindward wound ! 
Scorn on the coward's corpse, by spears 

Nail'd prone to the dishonour'd ground ! 

No ! let your stamping feet resound, 
Plant firm the steps that ne'er fall back ! 

With lips compress'd, teeth gnash'd and ground, 
Stride onward firm at each attack ! 

Behind the buckler's ample brim 

Fence the broad breast from every blow ; 
Ward the keen dints from every limb ! 

Bid the dark plume nod o'er the foe ! 

With ponderous spear well pois'd to throw ; 
Each hero close with sword and lance, 

Disdain the distant javelin's blow, 
But, breast to breast, like men advance. 



213 

Then helm to helm, and plume to plume, 

And foot to foot, and shield to shield, 
All give or take the warrior's doom ! 

In hand-fast combat none should yield. 

Light soldiers, agile, scour the field ! 
Range close behind the men of mail ! 

Tough javelins dart, light lances wield, 
And pour from slings the rattling hail i 



p 3 



' 



214 



FROM TYRT^EUS, 



To perish in the front of fight, 

Intent to fence their country's weal, 

I hold for warriors good and right, 

Whose hearts dare brave the biting steeL 

But he who meanly sneaks from war,- 
In houseless nakedness to pine, 

From home, from fertile fields afar, 

Clamouring for bread with piteous whine, 

Unhappier wretch can ne'er be found ; 

Doom'd in his wanderings to behold, 
Beggars woe-worn on foreign ground, 

His mother, father, poor and old : 

To view his love still drown'd in tears : 
To find, where'er he comes, a foe ; 

To gnaw his children's helpless years, 
Hunger and penury with him go. 



215 

Dishonouring long a noble race, 

Deep sink at last the sordid stains ; 

To man's fair form he does disgrace, 
Till not a sense of shame remains. 

Unpitied may the dastard sink ; 

His name and tale be heard no more ! — 
Ours are no feeble hearts to shrink 

From comrades in the combat's roar. 

We, heart and soul, to guard our right, 
Will for our country live or die ; 

For sons and daughters young we fight, 

Nor spare our blood, which still beats high. 

Rush on, brave youths, in firm array ! 

No day is this for flight or fear ! 
None from his brother flinch this day ! 

Accurs'd be he that seeks the rear ' 

Each hardy heart that swells in pride, 
Impetuous rush to battle's van ; 

The dastard fear of death deride, 

And bravely grapple man to man I 
p 4 



: 



216 

Ne'er be it told, in manhood's scorn, 
Our youths amid the battle's rage 

Basely forsook the elder-born, 

The ancient warriors stiff with age. 

Hah ! it were base in front of war 
To see the aged champion bleed, 

Whose forehead, rough with many a scar, 
Shows that he once the fray could lead. 

With dust defil'd, with blood besmear'd, 
Breathing his dauntless soul away, 

His hoary locks and reverend beard 
Bedraggled in the common clay. 

'Tis not for man of woman born 

To look where age dishonour'd lies r 

Ghastly and shrunk, in field forlorn : — 

The sight calls vengeance from the skies. 

But graceful manhood's comely flower, 
And vernal youth to virgins dear* 
Seem not more fair in bridal hour 

Than stretch'd on valour's purple bier. 



217 

Press on the foe with fearless stride ; 

Tramp with strong heel the slippery field ; 
Grasp the hard steel with warrior-pride ; 

Clench your set teeth, and never yield ! 



218 



ON 

THE DEATH OF MARSYAS, 

THE PHRYGIAN POET. 

Who is said to have been flayed alive by Apollo, after a fruitless 
contest with his flute against the lyre of the God. 

FROM THE GREEK. 



" No more thy music wakes the Phrygian pine, 
Nor breathes through hollow reeds in strains divine, 
O Nymph-sprung bard ! Minerva's gift no more 
Adorns the hands it grac'd so oft before. 
Thy frame indissoluble fetters load, 
Who, born a mortal, durst insult a God ; 
Thy lively pipe, which brav'd the lyre's sweet sound, 
Saw thee with death instead of conquest crown'd." 

Thus o'er the Phrygian youth, untimely slain, 
Divine Alcaeus woke the votive strain : 
While he, who oft, in tuneful conflict tried, 
Had Gods and men with fearless heart defied, 



219 



Was doom'd by Muses,jealous of the deed, 

On the tall pine the glutton crow to feed. 

With stern-reverted frown the pangs he bore, 

As from the writhing flesh the living skin they tore: 

The golden fillets which his temples crown'd, 

In frightful glory round the scalp were bound. 

The swelling notes which rose with warbling flight, 

His rapid fingers many-twinkling light, 

His pipe, that wont the lonely wilds to thrill, 

Fled from the groves and left them sad and still. 

Now far retreat from Phrygia's injur'd shore 
The mystic glories of her Asian lore : 
No more was heard the bard's inspiring tongue, 
To sing how worlds at first from chaos sprung ; 
What arm uprais'd the mountains o'er the plain, 
And dug the channels of the unfathom'd main, 
Gemm'd the blue ocean with each emerald isle, 
And bade green spring in youthful verdure smile, 
Till ancient earth outvied the blest abodes, 
Proud of her heroes and her demi-gods. 

So flow'd the strain when ancient Phrygia's song 
Pour'd its faint light o'er days forgotten long : 
With Marsyas sunk the deeds of elder time, 
The ancient chiefs who liv'd in Phrygian rhyme ; 



220 

The martial feats of heroes pass'd away, 
And Phrygia's fame in mute oblivion lay. 

Yet still, when Phoebus darts his arrowy rays, 
The morning pine the trickling tear displays, 
Unceasing sighs to mountains, vales, and floods, 
And breathes such sounding horror through the woods, 
When not a breeze the still-green foliage heaves, 
As if some spirit shook the shuddering leaves. 



221 



MADAGASCAR SONG- 

FROM PARNY's CHANSONS MADECASSES. 



Beneath the shade of orange-trees, 

Where streams with stilly murmurs run, 

'Tis sweet to breathe the fanning breeze, 
And watch the broad descending sun ; 

While youths and maids, a jocund throng, 
With measur'd tinkling steps appear, 

And pour the sweet soul-lulling song, 
That melts and lingers on the ear. 

How softly-wild the maiden's lay 

Whose pliant hand the rush-grass weaves ! 
But sweeter her's who drives away 

The reed-birds from the ricen sheaves. 



222 

My soul is bath'd in song : — the dance 
Is sweeter than the maiden's kiss, 

As half-receding steps advance 

To picture love's enchanting bliss. 

Soft fall your voices, breathing kind 
The passion ne'er to be withstood, 

As raptur'd gestures slowly wind, 

To image pleasure's melting mood. 

The gales of evening breathe ; — the moon 
Is glimmering through the leaves above 

Ah ! cease, dear maids, the mellow tune, 
And give the night to joy and love ! 



223 



FROM THE ITALIAN OF TASSO. 



Thou spirit pure and just ! from realms of day 
Oft bend thy pitying eyes on climes below, 
Where once the wreath of virtue crown'd thy brow, 

Unsullied by thy frame of mortal clay ! 

From realms of light, thou spirit wise and pure, 
Oft view thy friends in sorrow left behind, 
Whose ceaseless sighs ascend on every wind, 

Since none but thou their deep regret can cure ! 

Thy steps we trace along thy path sublime ; 
Illumin'd by thy bright example's light, 
We fearless tread this shadowy vale of night, 

And come to seek thee in a purer clime. 

Lo ! from the tomb thine accents still we hear, 

More sweet than any voice in this terrestrial sphere. , 



204 



FROM THE ITALIAN OF MENZINL 



Now spring returns, to paint with daisies new 
The fields, and from the hills the shepherds lead 
Their flocks to pasture on the spangled mead : 
Glistening with king-cup tufts of yellow hue, 
The earth's green bosom drinks the radiance mild 
Of sunbeams lingering through the placid air, 
And Philomel no more to sad despair, 
But love's soft murmurs, tunes her carols wild. 
Fair heavenly light, whose keen unwearied rays 
Chase winter's brood in icy caves to lie, 
Far from the azure circle of the sky ! — 
Alas ! beneath the wintry frost of days, 
When snowy age his hair has silver'd o'er, 
Shall youth's fair spring to man return no more ? 



225 



DIRGE ON GUILLEN PERAZA, 

GOVERNOR OF THE CANARIES. 

Who fell in attempting the conquest of the island Palma, 
soon after the year 1418. 

FROM THE SPANISH. 



Peraza, virgins fair and chaste, 

Wail, as you wish for heaven to smile ! 
That flower of youth has faded fast, 
That lovely flower, too fair to last, 

Lies wither'd in wild P alma's Isle. 

The Palm no more shalt thou be stil'd, 

Thou scene of dire disgrace and shame ! 
Thy name shall be the Bramble wild, 
The Cypress sad by death defil'd, 

That sunk so dear a chieftain's fame ! 

2 



226 

May dire volcanoes waste thy plains, 
Pleasures desert thy guilty land, 
Be haunted still by woes and pains, 
And still, for spring's reviving rains, 

Thy flowery fields o'erwhelm'd with sand ! 

Peraza ! where is now thy shield ? 

Peraza ! where is now thy spear ? 
No more his lance the chief shall wield, 
His broken weapons strew the field : 

Alas, for victory bought so dear ! 



227 



TO CAMOENS. 

FROM THE PORTUGUEZE OF DE MATOS. 
So' com o grande e immortal Camoes, &c. 



Camoens, o'er thy bright immortal lays, 
Of mournful elegy or lyric song, 
How fleetly glide the rapid hours along ! 

I give to thee my nights, to thee my days. 

The harms of fortune and the woes of love, 
The changes of thy destiny severe, 
I mark with sadly sympathetic tear, 

And can but sigh for what was thine to prove. 

For thee mine eyes with bursting tears o'erflow, 
Majestic poet ! whose undaunted soul 
Brav'd the ill-omen'd stars of either Pole, 

And found in other climes but change of woe. 

o 

What bard of fickle fortune dare complain, 
Who knows thy fate, and high immortal strain ? 



S2 



22S 



SONNET. 

FROM THE SAME. 
Vao de valor, vao de fortuna armados, &c. 



High in the front of conquering hosts to ride 

Be yours, ye sons of fortune, sons of fame !; 
Be yours the triumph of a deathless name, 

While spoils of vanquish'd nations swell your pride ! 

Lift to the breeze your banners streaming wide, 

While captive nations bend the knee below ! 
Let the fair galley's lofty gilded prow 

Shine o'er the dancing billows of the tide ! 

With vaunted chiefs of Greece and mighty Rome 
Be yours beneath the sacred shade to march, 
Where palm and laurel form the victor's arch, 

While lofty minstrels chaunt the nations' doom ! 

But leave to me the conquest of my fair, 

With her soft azure eyes and auburn hair. 



€29 



ODE TO JEHOVAH. 

FROM THE HEBREW OF MOSES. 



In high Jehovah's praise, my strain 
Of triumph shall the chorus lead, 

Who plung'd beneath the rolling main 
The horseman with his vaunted steed. 
Dread breaker of our servile chains, 
By Whom our arm in strength remains, 

The scented algum forms Thy car ! 
Our fathers' God ! Thy name we raise 
Beyond the bounds of mortal praise, 

The Chieftain and the Lord of war. 

Far in the caverns of the deep 

Their chariots sunk to rise no more ; 

And Pharaoh's mighty warriors sleep 

Where the Red Sea's huge monsters roar. 
Plung'd like a rock amid the wave, 
Around their heads the billows lave; 

2 * 



4f 



230 

Down, down the yawning gulf they go, 
Dash'd by Thy high-expanded hand 
To pieces on the pointed sand, 

That strews the shelving rocks below. 

What lambent lightnings round Thee gleam, 
Thy foes in blackening heaps to strew ! 

As o'er wide fields of stubble stream 
The flames, in undulations blue. 
And lo ! the waters of the deep 
Swell in one enormous heap, 

Collected at Thy nostrils' breath. 
The bosom of the abyss reveal'd, 
WalPd with huge crystal waves congeal'd, 

Unfolds the yawning jaws of death. 

" Swift steeds of Egypt speed your course, 
And swift ye rapid chariots roll ! 

Not ocean's bed impedes our force ; 

Red vengeance soon shall glut our soul : 
The sabre keen shall soon embrue 
Its glimmering edge in gory dew" — 

Impatient cried the exulting foe ; — 
When, like a ponderous mass of lead, 
They sink — and sudden, o'er their head 

The bursting waves impetuous flow. 



231 

But Thou, in whose sublime abode 
Resistless might and mercy dwell, 

Our voices, high o'er every God, 

With grateful hearts Thy praises swell ! 
Out-stretch'd we saw Thy red right-hand, 
The earth her solid jaws expand ; 

Adown the gulf alive they sink : — 

While we, within the incumbent main, 
Beheld the tumbling floods in vain 

Storm on our narrow pathway's brink. 

But, far as fame's shrill notes resound, 
With dire dismay the nations hear ; 

Old Edom's sons with laurels crown'd, 
And Moab's warriors melt with fear. 
The petrifying tale disarms 
The might of Canaan's countless swarms, 

Appall'd their heroes sink supine; 
No mailed band with thrilling cries 
The might of Jacob's sons defies, 

That moves to conquer Palestine. 

Nor burning sands our way impede, 
Where nature's glowing embers lie ; 

But, led by Thee, we safely tread 
Beneath the furnace of the sky. 
2 4 



232 

To fields, where fertile olives twine 
Their branches with the clustering vine 

Soon shalt Thou Jacob's armies bring ; 
To plant them by Thy mighty hand 
Where the proud towers of Salem stand ; 

And ever reign their God and King. 

Far in the deep's unfathom'd caves 
Lie strew'd the flower of Mazur's land, 

Save when the surge, that idly raves, 
Heaves their cold corses on the sand. 
With courage unappall'd, in vain 
They rush'd within the channell'd main ; 

Their heads the billows folded o'er : 
While Thou hast Israel's legions led 
Through the green ocean's coral-bed, 

To ancient Edom's palmy shore. 



<23S 



THE MONODY OF TOGRAI. 

FROM THE ARABIC. 



When all the splendid pomp of pride declines, 

In native lustre virtue brighter shines. 

My rising sun meridian beams have crown'd, 

And equal glory gilds its western bound ; 

For, still unconscious of ignoble stains, 

High beats the purple tide through Hassan's veins ; 

Though far I fly from Zaura's fair domain ; 

Nor mine the camels on her sandy plain. 

As when corroding damps and dews impair 
The sabre's temper' d edge expos'd and bare, 
So now deserted by my friends, I stray 
Through wastes of sand and burning deserts gray : 
No kind companion left to soothe my woe, 
Or share my joy with sympathetic glow. 
In the hot gale my quivering lances sigh ; 
My moaning camels piteously reply ; 



234 



Harass 'd, fatigu'd, they sink with wasting pain, 

While frail attendants querulous complain. 

Bred in the desert sands, an Arab bold, 

I keenly sallied forth in quest of gold ; 

And thought, when gold should all my dangers crown, 

From generous deeds to claim a just renown : 

For riches bid the generous mind expand., 

And copious bounty ope the liberal hand : 

But time has now revers'd these visions gay ; 

Content with safety, I forego the prey. 

Far other thoughts inspir'd my ardent breast, 
When last I journey'd o'er this sultry waste : 
Pleas'd by my side I saw my friend advance, 
Of stature lofty as his tapering lance ; 
In mirth jocose, in counsel grave, severe 
In temper'd softness unalloy'd by fear. 
While night emits dull slumber's drowsy hive, 
Far from his eyes their humming flight I drive : 
While on their camel-seats the rest incline, 
Giddy with sleep's inebriating wine. — 

" Did I not call thee to a hard emprize, 
" And wilt thou shrink when dangers round us rise? 
" Dost sleep, while wakes yon star's refulgent eye, 
" Ere yet the ambient hue of darkness fly ? 



235 



" The camels urge, — our journey's end draws near, 

" And bold adventure still disperses fear — 

" Be ours, through Thoal's archer-bands, to gain 

" The sprightly troops that camp on Edom's plain. 

" Sweet maids ! how graceful curl your locks of jet, 

" While rubies sparkle through their waving net ! 

" The gales, that round your perfum'd temples play, 

" Will by their fragrant breath direct our way, 

c< Where, timorous as the fawn, you hide your fears 

" Amid the thick-encircling grove of spears. 

" We seek the lovely maids of yonder vale, 

" But lions guard where love would fain assail ; 

" Their dauntless spearmen every fear defy, 

" Warm'd by the beams of each dark rolling eye. 

" While generous deeds their liberal minds inflame, 

" Frugal and modest blooms each beauteous dame. 

" The flames these warriors on the mountains raise 

" Invite the traveller by their welcome blaze ; 

" While love's soft flames, which these dear maids inspire, 

" Glow in his breast with unextinguish'd fire. 

" Slain by these heroes, in their tented halls, 

" To grace the feast, the steed, the camel falls ; 

" Beneath the glance of each soft female eye, 

" Devoid of life their charm-struck lovers lie ; 

" 'Tis there the anguish of the warrior's wound 

" In cups of honied wine is quickly drown'd ; 



236 



" And sure, if here I longer should remain, 

" Some balmy breeze would mitigate my pain. 

" Nor wounds nor arrows shall my bosom rue 

" From quiver'd eyes of ample rolling blue ; 

" Nor shall my heart the glittering sabres dread 

" From curtain'd veils where Thoal's maids are hid ; 

" Nor yet from gazels gay that I adore 

" Shall I retreat, though lions round me roar." 

While o'er these sands our fearless course we held, 
Such glowing words my venturous band impell'd . — 
Now danger drives me, far from pomp and power, 
To spend in drowsy sloth each lingering hour. 
In drowsy sloth ! but let me first prepare 
To scale the regions of the desert air ; 
On cavern'd deep from mortal view to dwell, 
Within the centre of the earth's vast shell ; 
Content to leave the heights of power sublime 
For those that dare the steeps of glory climb. 
Content degrades the peasant's abject race! 
But fame attends the camel's hastening pace. — 
Then rouse my camels ! let us forward haste, 
And fearless plunge amid Arabia's waste, 
While, as we lightly trace each sandy plain, 
Your curbs shall match the swiftest courser's rein ; 



237 

Tis fame commands my wandering steps to range, 
And says that glory only waits on change : 
For would the sun, if glory dwelt on high, 
Desgrt his mansion of meridian sky ? — 

But while my steps to dangers new I bend, 
Will fortune's fickle smiles my course attend ? 
I calPd her once, but she disdain'd to hear, 
When fools alone had caught her listening ear. 
Yet had intrinsic worth avail'd to gain 
Her favouring smiles, I had not sued in vain. 

But hope shines radiant o'er each future plan, 
Hope, that illumes the narrow sphere of man. — 
Weak hope ! wilt thou, when waning years decay, 
Transcend the bliss of life's advancing day? — 
Ah no ! when life and fortune's smiles were new, 
Their pleasures ne'er my fix'd affections drew ; 
My spirit, conscious of its worth innate, 
Still spurn'd the base, and brav'd the frown of fate, 
Which oft condemns in indolence to pine 
The powers in glory's path that brightest shine, — 
As the keen sabre gleams in empty show, 
Till warrior-arms impress the fateful blow. 



Ne'er did I think that, doom'd by fate's decree, 
These eyes the empire of the vile should see. 
Now foremost rush the base in glory's race, 
Whose speed once equall'd not my slowest pace. 
Such is the meed of him whose tardy age 
Sees every friend desert this earthly stage. 
Thus flag the brave in glory's fair career ; — 
Thus rolls the sun beneath cold Saturn's sphere. 

Then rouse my soul, in fate's resistless day, 
Repel impatient grief's usurping sway : 
Roll'd in thyself, all aid of mortals spurn, 
Nor trust a treacherous friend, his guile to mourn. 
Lives there a man the phoenix of his race ? 
'Tis he that spurns each feigning friend's embrace. 
Truth fades, while wide the thorn of falsehood grows, 
And men's false deeds their flattering words oppose ; 
Nor one to keep his plighted faith prepares, 
Till o'er his head the burnish'd sabre glares. 
Then weak the mind unmov'd by such disgrace 
To view with due contempt the miscreant race ; 
For hosts of lies against the truth combine, 
As bending curves distort the equal line. 

And thou that, after youth unvex'd with pain, 
The muddy dregs of turbid life would'st drain, 



239 



If one poor cup thy parching thirst could slake, 
Say, wouldst thou plunge in ocean's boundless lake 
He reigns alone, the sovereign of his soul, 
Whom idle fears nor foreign cares control ; 
Who hopes not fondly in his tented dome 
Unalter'd still to find a lasting home : 
For who hath heard, or who shall ever hear 
Of domes unalter'd in this changeful sphere ! 

Sages, who, musing deep, the course explore 
Of things that are, and things that are no more, 
Hide in your breast the strange mysterious plan, 
Since silence best becomes the lot of man ! 
Not mortal might can stay the ceaseless course 
Of fate, that rules us with resistless force ; 
E'en you may wander, from your homes exil'd, 
With wayward camels through the sandy wild. 



240 



TO THE COURIER DOVE. 

FROM THE ARABIC. 



Fair traveller of the pathless air, 
To Zara's bowers these accents bear, 
Hid in the shade of palmy groves, 
And tell her where her wanderer roves ! 
But spread, O spread your pinion blue, 
To guard my lines from rain and dew : 
And when my charming fair you see, 
A thousand kisses bear from me, 
And softly murmur in her ear 
How much I wish that I were near ! 



241 



ON 

A NEGRO MARRYING AN ARAB WOMAN. 

FROM THE ARABIC OF NABEGA. 



JDar'st thou thy sooty arms, dark monster, twine 
Around the brightest maid of Arab line ? 
Desist, profane ! nor shock our blasted sight 
By wedding shining day to sable night. 



242 



THE ARAB WARRIOR, 



FROM THE ARABIC. 



O'er yawning rocks abrupt that scowl 
Terrific o'er the ostrich grey, 

Where fairies scream and demons howl, 
I fearless hold my midnight way. 

Though pitchy black around expand 
The cavern'd darkness of the tomb, 

I fearless stretch my groping hand, 

That seems to feel the thickening gloom. 



I pass, and on their desert bed 

Forsake my weary slumbering band, 
That languid droop the drowsy head, 

Like berries nodding o'er the sand. 



243 

I plunge in darkness overjoy'd, 

That seems a circumambient sea, 

Though dreary gape the lonely void, 
And awful to each man, but me. 

Where guides are lost, where shrieks the owl 
Her dirge, where men in wild affright 

Fly the hyena's famish'd howl, 

I plunge amid the shades of night. 



r 2 



ei4 



FROM THE ARABIC 

OF TABAT SHIRRA. 

ON REVENGING THE BLOOD OF HIS UNCLE, WHO HAD BEEN 
MURDERED BY THE CHIEF OF THE TRIBE OF HUDDEIL. 



Deep in the riven rock he lies — 
His blood no more for vengeance cries ; 
Its deadly weight I heave away, 
Which grievous on my shoulders lay. 
So thought he, on that day of pain, 
The chieftain mingled- with the slain : 
" My sister's son shall Venge my fame, 
That youth whom perils ne'er can tame, 
Whose snake-like eyes with venom glow, 
When bends his brent brow on the foe." 

Sad was the tale, that day of pain, 
That such a chief had join'd the slain ; 
His kindred's bosoms felt the shock ; 
It struck me like a mighty rock : 






245 

So fortune strikes the soul elate 
That scorns to truckle to his fate. 

How grand a chieftain have we lost ! 
A sun was he in winter's frost, 
Yet still when fiercest heats invade, 
To all his tribe a cooling shade. 
Spare in his form, of diet spare, 
But not from greed or niggard care ; 
Prudent and wise, at honour's call 
His generous hand was spread to all; 
To friends a cloud of vernal rain, 
A lion on the battling plain. 
The path of death, unknown to yield, 
He trod, and dauntless press'd the field. 
Graceful his steps, with garments fair, 
In peace long flow'd his raven hair ; 
Gaunt as a wolf in deadly fray, 
That hunger-bitten darts on prey. 

In him were ever wont to meet 
The bitterest bitter, sweetest sweet ; 
To friends still dearer wont to grow ; 
No bitterer morsel to his foe ; 
With sword deep-jagg'd and sharp at need, 
He rode grim Terror like a steed. 

r 3 



24(3 

Far to the south, with weapons bright, 
We trod by day, we trod by night, 
Each sharp-set youth with sharp-edg'd blade, 
Where lambent levin-terrors play'd, 
And rathly, e'er the dawn of day, 
We reach'd the robbers where they lay. 

Sipping sweet slumber's draughts they slept: — 
They nodded as we near them crept : — 
They wak'd — but vengeance seiz'd her prey : 
Few 'scap'd alive I wot, that day. 
What though beneath Huddeila's stroke 
Our chieftain's blade of battle broke ; 
Yet this I live in song to tell, 
It broke not till Huddeila fell. 
On a harsh soil he stumbling lit 
Where many a camel's hoof was split. 
A dire repast for many a day 
We gave and took of blood and prey. 

Now have I seen red vengeance fall, 
I, whom extremes can ne'er appal, 
Who triumph in my keenest woe, 
(So be the same may goad the foe;) 
Who, parch'd with vengeance, keenly rear 
And drench in blood my thirsty spear. 



247 



Wine, charming wine, forsworn so long * 
Since first I bore this cruel wrong, 
Is lawful now ; the purple flood 
Shall pour a stream, — the wine of blood 
Is lawful ; — sword and spear and steed 
Shall drink, — 'tis valour's purple meed. 
'Tis lawful, flowing fair and free, 
My trusty weapons drink with me ! 
Drink, brave Sawad ! this wither'd frame 
Was shrivell'd dry till vengeance came. 

Huddeila fierce ! your parting breath 
Deep pledg'd us in the cup of death ; 
You drank the bitterest dregs below, 
Defeat, disgrace, and overthrow. 

With gloating eyes hyenas smile 
O'er the rank corse of fierce Huddeil, 
And hungry wolves while flocking in 
With joyful glances grimly grin. 
The glutton-vultures on the wild 
Brood o'er the slain with dust defil'd, 
Bloated and swoll'n with human gore 
Flag their lank wings unfit to soar. 

* The Arab seems to have forsworn wine till he could satiate his 
vengeance, as the Irish take an oath against whisky. 

R 4 



248 



TIMUR's WAR SONG. 

FROM THE PERSIC OF ALI YEZDI. 



The feast is set, the goblets crown'd, 
Ye men of blood come all along ! 

Our hall the battle's purpled ground, 

The warrior's shriek our drinking-song. 

Our wine the blood of foes ; — advance ! 

For cups, with sabres glittering bright, 
Deep drink each thirsty Tartar lance ! 

Our banquet is the roar of fight. 



249 



ODE. 

FROM THE PERSIC OF KHAKANI. 



That cheek which boasts the ruby's hue, 
That breast, a lily bath'd in dew, 
That form whose graceful beauty gleams 
Like cypress bending o'er the streams, 
Thou marble heart ! destroyer ! say 
What tyrant steals my soul away ? — 

That airy form, that amorous sigh, 
The flower-bud of that liquid eye, 
Whose glances steal my soul away, 
Thy name, thou lovely tyrant, say ! — 

O thou, whose wanton footsteps tread 
The garden's flower-enamell'd glade, 
Whose pouting rose-bud lips contain 
More luscious honey than the cane, 



250 

Whose eyes in liquid lustre shine 
Bright as the hue of sparkling wine, 
Whose bending eyebrows shafts of woe 
Dart like arrows from the bow, 
Brows that stole their pearly light 
From the silver queen of night, 
Whose' charms have stoPn my soul away, 
Thy name, thou beauteous tyrant, say ! 

The wine of love, that thrills the soul, 
Thy bard has drunk beyond controul ; 
To learn thy name would gladly drain 
His life from each enamour'd vein : 
Thou charmer of Khakani, say, 
What beauty steals his soul away ? — 



251 



ODE. 

FROM THE PERSIC OF HAFEZ. 



Oh ! I have borne, and borne in vain, 
The pang of love's delirious pain ; 
But she for whom my tear-drops fell, 
Oh ! ask me, ask me not to tell. 

Oh ! I have borne the lingering smart 
Of absence cankering in the heart ; 
But she for whom my tear-drops fell, 
Oh ! ask me, ask me not to tell. 

Far have I roam'd with wandering feet, 
And found a fair so heavenly sweet, 
That in my breast she still shall dwell, 
But ask me not her name to tell. 



252 

How long her footsteps I pursu'd, 
How long with tears their prints bedew'd, 
How long she made my sighs to swell, 
Oh ! ask me, ask me not to tell. 

Sounds of the kindest, tenderest tone, 
To fondest lovers only known, 
Last evening from her dear lips fell ; 
But ask me, ask me not to tell. 

Why frown and bite that angry lip ? 
I love her honied kiss to sip : 
How soft the melting rubies swell ! 
But ask me not her name to tell. 

Dear love ! when far from thee I pine, 
All lonely in this home of mine, 
What sighs my tortur'd bosom swell, 
Oh ! ask me, ask me not to tell. 

To love's dear bliss before unknown, 
To such a height has passion grown, 
That Hafez ne'er its power can quell ; 
Then ask him, ask him not to tell. 



253 



FROM THE PERSIAN OF HATEFL 



Prophets of song, 'mid the poetic race, 

Three mighty bards may claim the highest place. 

Ferdusi leads the high heroic strain ; 

Stern Anwar i excels in moral vein ; 

But lyric Sadi in the ode sublime 

Is first in excellence, and first in time. 



'254, 



SONNET, 

IMITATED FROM THE PERSIC OP SADI. 



Sweet are the soft descending dews of sleep, 
That bathe the virtuous in serene repose, 
When injur 'd innocence forgets her woes, 

And streaming eyes of sorrow cease to weep. — 

And sweet the weary peasant's welcome rest, 
Who glady sees, with the descending sun, 
The summer day's incessant labour done, 

While no black festering cares his couch molest. 

But shall the shrieks and groans of misery fall , 
Like softest music on the tyrant's ear ? 
And shall he not mid broken slumbers hear 

A voice that must his shuddering soul appal ? 

Yes ; — 'tis the sullen pause of mortal woe, 

When sleep hangs heavy on the tyrant's brow. 









255 



THE RENUNCIATION OF POETRY. 

FROM THE PERSIAN OF ANWARI. 



" What ?' cried a witling with a simpering air, 

" What charming ode shall next enchant the fair ?" 

" No more ;'' said I, " mute are my love-sick lays, 

" Mute biting satire, mute the voice of praise." — 

" But why" ? — " It is a dangerous course to run, 

Though what is past can never be undone ; 

As wealth, or love inspir'd in former days, 

I fram'd the love-song, or the song of praise ; 

The crimes, the follies of the age to brand, 

My sharp invective thrill'd a guilty land; 

To praise a sugar-lip, or ringlet's twine, 

Mine eyes would sleep the live-long night resign. 

The day, the tedious day, I beat my brain, 

For terms of praise, five wretched doits to gain, 

Or, like a mad dog, chaf 'd I wont to roam, 

On some weak wretch to vent my gall and foam : 

Sure God at last in mercy drove away 

Three hungry hounds, of which I was the prey. 



256 

Avaunt ! no more the ardent song I raise 

To love's soft numbers, sharp reproach, or praise ; 

Enough, that genius in my youthful song 

Has turn'd to waste, and science turn'd to wrong. 

Bethink thee, Anwari, in life's poor span, 

Vain boasting never can become the man ! 

Enough, that youth was given to gain a name; 

Be man, and shun the slippery paths of fame ; 

Or hide thee in the hermit's musing cell, 

But bid to satire, praise, and love's soft strains farewell !" 



257 



ON SPRING. 

FliOM THE PERSIC OF RASH1D. 



The soul-expanding Spring appears, 
The earth looks lovely green and gay, 

While every lawn and garden wears 
Embroider'd vests of rich array. 

Beryl and ruby's radiant hue 
In field and forest fair is seen ; 

While mimic corals meet the view, 

Commingling with the garden's green. 

Like Vamik's visage wet with woe, 
Flags faint the moist and tepid air ; 

While earth assumes a fresher glow, 
And smiles around like Azra fair. 



258 

Within the tulip's border green 

The dew shines bright as evening's star; 
The tulip's vase with dew-pearl sheen 

And icy crystal gleams afar. 

Or heaven itself descends below, 
Or earth with paradise may vie. 

Say, spreads with greener, warmer glow 
The pavement of the upper sky ? 



259 



FROM THE PERSIAN OF RUDEKI. 



Rudeki was born in Maveralmaher, and blind from his 
birth, but of so acute a genius and intelligent a mind, that 
at eight years of age he retained the Koran completely by 
memory. He made rapid progress in learning, and early 
began to compose verses ; and, as his voice was remarkably 
sweet, he studied music, and learned to play on the harp, 
in which he became a great proficient. He was bred in the 
court of Nasser ben Ahmed Samani, where he had two hun- 
dred slaves, and four hundred camels to carry his baggage. 
No poet after him obtained such wealth and honours : his 
poems, if authors are to be trusted, amounted to a hundred 
volumes. In the treatise entitled Yamini, his verses are said 
to amount to one million and three hundred. 

The following is a fragment in praise of wine. 

He who my brimming cup shall view 

In trembling radiance shine, 
Shall own the* ruby's brilliant hue 

Is match'd by rosy wine. 

s 2 



260 

Each is a gem from Nature's hand 

In living lustre bright, 
But one congeals its radiance bland; 

One swims in liquid light. 

Ere you can touch, its sparkling dye 
Has left a splendid stain ; 

Ere you can drink, the essence high 
Floats giddy through the brain. 



261 



THE RETURN AFTER ABSENCE. 



FROM THE SAME. 



According to some historians, king Nasser ben Ahmed 
having on a time visited Meru, termed from the beauty of 
its situation Shahjan, or " the king's delight;" continued 
there so long, that the courtiers began to regret Bokhara 
and its palaces and gardens. On this occasion they pre- 
vailed on the poet Rudeki to compose some verses for the 
purpose of inspiring the king with a desire of revisiting 
Bokhara. So one day as the king was taking his morning 
refreshment, Rudeki struck the harp, and sung the following 
verses. 



Oh ! the breeze of the mountain is soothing and sweet, 
Warm breathing of love, and the friends we shall meet ; 
And the rocks of the desert, so rough, where we roam, 
Seem soft, soft as silk, on the dear path of home ; 
The white waves of the Jeikon, that foam through their 

speed, 
Seem scarcely to reach to the girth of my steed. 

s 3 



262 



Rejoice, O Bokhara, and flourish for aye ! 

Thy king comes to meet thee, and long shall he stay. 

Our king is our moon, and Bokhara our skies, 

Where soon that fair light of the heavens shall rise ; 

Bokhara our orchard, the cypress our king, 

In Bokhara's fair orchard soon destin'd to spring.* 

* These verses had so powerful an effect on the mind of the 
prince, that he instantly started up, dressed as he was in his wrap- 
per and sandals, and performed a day's journey to Bokhara before 
he paused. 



263 



ON MAHMUD's WAR-STEED. 

FROM THE PERSIAN OF UNS-ARI. 



Thy courser's limbs such fine proportions grace, 
No fault the skilful painter's hand can trace ; 
No steed like him can pace or bound amain, 
Elastic darting o'er the level plain. 
Far as the eye can reach, in proud career, 
His eager snorting in the course you hear. 
Snake-like he winds, and supple springs aloof; 
He vaults to touch the azure sky's blue roof; 
Prone down a hill in rapid course he bounds, 
As when some headlong-rolling rock resounds : 
In his ascent, he rapid darts on high, 
Like a red meteor journeying through the sky : 
Smooth as a bird he skims the level plain, 
Bright as a torrent's foam his tossing mane : 
In air, he moves like wind ; through wind, his force 
Outstrips the whirlwind in careering course. 

s 4 



264 .< 

Relax his reins, he darts beyond the sphere ; 
Retract, he turns with comet-like career. 
Though swift, the solid earth shrinks sore to feel 
The mighty pressure of his stamping heel. 
God form'd him sure that mortals might admire 
A steed without capacity to tire. 



265 



IMPROMPTU, 



ON MAHMUD's CUTTING OFF THE TRESSES OF HIS 
MISTRESS AYAZ, ONE DAY IN A PASSION. 

FROM THE SAME. 



Why should you sit in dumb dismay, 
That beauty's locks are lopt away ? 
Call wine and music, and be gay : 
The graceful poplar, day by day, 
Thrives as its boughs are prun'd away. 



266 



TO NJGHT. 

FROM THE SAME. 



O Night, sweet Night, like yesterday, 
Do not my secret love betray ! 
From eve to lingering morning light 
Was ever such a tedious Night ? 
O Night, sweet Night, be kind I pray, 
Nor balk my love like yesterday ! 



267 



IN RIDICULE OF ASTROLOGY. 

FROM THE PERSIC OF CATEBI. 



Said Anwari, " A mighty storm shall blow, 
Tear up tall trees and lay the palace low." 
But when the dreadful day predicted came, 
There was no breeze to vex the taper's flame. 
Lord of the tempest ! was the fault in thee, 
Or the deep sage, star-gazing Anwari? 



268 



LAMENT FOR RAMA. 

FROM THE BENGALI. # 



I warn you, fair maidens, to wail and to sigh, 
For Rama, our Rama, to green-wood must fly ; 
Then hasten, come hasten to see his array, 
For Ayud'hya is dark when our chief goes away. 

All the people are flocking to see him pass by ; 
They are silent and sad, with the tear in their eye : 
From the fish in the streamlets a broken sigh heaves, 
And the birds of the forest lament from the leaves. 

His five locks are matted, no raiment has he 
For the wood, save a girdle of bark from the tree ; 
And of all his gay splendour you nought may behold, 
Save his bow and his quiver, and ear-rings of gold. 

* This is a translation of some Bengali verses, sung by the Decoit 
chief Casinath, after he was taken in Nadia. 



269 



Oh ! we thought to have seen him in royal array 
Before his proud squadrons his banners display, 
And the voice of the people exulting to own 
Their sovereign assuming the purple and crown ; 
But the time has gone by, and my hope is despair : 
One maiden perfidious has wrought all my care. 

Our light is departing, and darkness returns, 
Like a lamp half-extinguish'd and lonely it burns. 
Faith fades from the age, nor can honour remain, 
And fame is delusive, and glory is vain. 



270 



VERSES 

WRITTEN AFTER BEING AT SEA FOR THE FIRST TIME, 

BY EMIR MUHAMMED PEISHAWERI, AN AFFGHAN.* 

FROM THE PUSHTO. 



The sage who first refus'd to roam 

Through foreign climes in quest of gain. 

But bade us prize the joys of home, 
Thought of thy dangers, fearful main ! 

What though the bread on shore we taste 
Be purchas'd oft with toil and pain, 

A loaf is better than a feast, 

When purchas'd on the brackish main. 

Like ocean's depths, as poets tell, 
Spreads the abyss of endless pain ; 

But not the deepest pit of hell 

Can match thy horrors, frightful main ! 

* Dr. Leyden's servant. 



271 

Ashore each pleasant breeze that blows 
Might sooth to rest a soul in pain ; 

But heart and liver, torn with throes, 
Leap to your lips when on the main. 

When o'er your bark the tempests beat, 
With lightning, thunder, wind and rain, 

There's nought to be your winding sheet 
Save the white foam that streaks the main. 

Ashore e'en strangers strangers greet 
In phrase polite and courteous strain ; 

But bitter oaths are all you meet, 

When journeying on the savage main. 

On shore a thousand pleasures rise 
To sooth fatigue and banish pain ; 

But every joy and pleasure flies 

From him who travels on the main. 

Scenes fair, sublime, and strange and new, 
Arrest the eye on hill or plain : 

Nought save the foamy waves you view 
When journeying on the desert main. 



272 

The parrot pent in wiry cage 

Its fluttering pinions beats in vain : 

So vain our grief, so vain our rage, 
When reeling on the restless main. 

God save us all from fell remorse, 

Revenge, and wrath, and proud disdain ; 

For ever bad, 'tis ten times worse 
To meet them on the desert main. 

When flames most bright and fierce aspire, 
Water can still their force restrain ; 

But vivid flames of sparkling fire 
Flash from the surges of the main. 

On wondrous fins the fishes fly, 
Like birds, along the ocean-plain, 

In flocks, like sparrows, soar on high, 
And sport and glitter on the main. 

Sea-monsters roll so huge and blue, 
I dread to name them in my strain. 

That at one gulp both ship and crew 
Could swallow on the weltering main. 



273 

Dark demons of portentous form, 

That heaven's vast arch can scarce contain, 
You see them stalking in the storm, 

When journeying on the desert main. 

Till death his fatal arrows speed, 
No soul escapes from mortal pain : 

Of death and all his darts no need 
Have they who journey on the main. 

From all these ghastly scenes of fear, 
That well might turn a poet's brain, 

To find myself in safety here, 
Foils all the marvels of the main, 



274 



THE FIGHT OF PRAYA. • 

A MALAY DIRGE. 



Warriors ! chieftains of Malaya ! 
You shall live in endless light, 
Though you vanish'd in the night, 

Perish'd in the fight of Praya. 

Foot to foot, and man to man, 

When beneath the burning beam 
Burnish'd lances brightest gleam, 

You the combat still began. 



* The fight of Praya occurred in 1791, when the King or 

Rajah of Kiddeh was surprised in a night attack by Light, 

Governor of Penang, and defeated with great loss. The Rajah 
declared after the route that he was ashamed of having ever 
been the friend of people who fought in the night, and without 
giving fair warning. 



275 

Shouts of battle, heard afar, 

Bade your foes the steel prepare, 
Give the winds their coal-black hair, 

March to meet the coming war. 

Not a breeze convey'd the tale 

When the whites began the fray : 
Sure they fear'd the eye of day 

Should see their faces ghastly pale. 

Now, in forms of finer air, 

While these grassy graves you view, 
Scent the flowerets that we strew, 

List the vengeance that we swear ! — 

Warriors, o'er each ridgy tomb 

The mournful marjoram shall grow, 
And the grave-flowers pale shall blow, 

Sad memorials of your doom ! 

O'er your long-lamented clay 

The unrelenting blood shall flow 
Of the vengeful buffalo, 

And his frontlets broad decay. 
t 2 



276 

Chieftains ! warriors of Malaya ! 
You shall be aveng'd in light, 
Though you perish'd in the night, 

Perish'd in the fight of Praya. 






277 



THE DIRGE OF T1PPOO SULTAN. 

FROM THE CANARA. # 



How quickly fled our Sultan's state ! 

How soon his pomp has pass'd away ! 
How swiftly sped Seringa's fate 

From wealth and power to dire decay \ 

How proud his conquering banners flew ! 

How stately march'd his dread array ! 
Soon as the King of earth withdrew 

His favouring smile, they pass'd away. 

His peopled kingdoms stretching wide 

A hundred subject leagues could fill, 
While dreadful frown'd in martial pride 

A hundred Droogs from hill to hill. 

* Canara is the language of Mysore and Bednore, as well as of 
the Canara province, and the neighbouring districts. 

T 3 



278 

His hosts of war, a countless throng, 
His Franks, impatient for the fray, 

His horse, that proudly pranc'd along, — 
All in a moment pass'd away. 

His mountain-forts of living stone 
Were hewn from every massy rock ; 

Whence bright the sparkling rockets shone, 
And loud the vollied thunder spoke. 

His silver lances gleam'd on high ; 

His spangled standards flutter'd gay : 
Lo ! in the twinkling of an eye 

Their martial pride has pass'd away. 

Girt by the Cavery's holy stream, 
By circling walls in triple row, 

W T hile deep between, with sullen gleam, 
The dreary moat out-spread below, 

High o'er the portals, jarring hoarse, 
Stern ramparts rose in dread array ; 

Towers that seem'd proof to mortal force — 
All in a moment pass'd away. 



279 

His elephants of hideous cry, 

His steeds that paw'd the battling-ground, 
His golden stores that wont to lie, 

In years of peace, in cells profound : 

Himself a chief of prowess high, 

Unmatch'd in battle's stormy day ; — 

Lo ! in the twinkling of an eye, 
Our dauntless hero pass'd away. 

His countless gems, a glittering host, 
Arrang'd in nine-fold order smil'd : 

Each treasur'd wealth the world can boast 
In splendid palaces were pil'd : 

Jewels enchas'd, a precious store 
Of fretted pride, of polish high, 

Of costly work, which ne'er before 

Were heard with ear or seen with eye. 

A hundred granaries huge enclos'd 
Full eighteen sorts of foodful grain : 

Dark in his arsenals repos'd 

Battle's terrific flame-mouth'd train. 
t 4* 



280 

How paltry proud Duryoden's state 
To his, in fortune's prosperous day, 

In wealth, in martial pomp elate : 
All in a moment pass'd away, 

Before our prince of deathless fame 
The silver trumpet's thrilling sound, 

Applauding heralds loud acclaim, 

And deep-ton'd nobuts shook the ground. 

His was the wealth by Rajahs won, 
Beneath their high imperial sway, 

While eight successive ages run : 
But all, alas ! has pass'd away. 

How swift the ruthless spoiler came, 
How quick he ravag'd, none can say, 

Save He whose dreadful eye of flame 
Shall blast him on the Judgment-day. 

The noon-tide came with baleful light, 
The Sultan's corpse in silence lay : 

His kingdom, like a dream of night, 
In silence vanish'd quite away. 



281 

Bat say, to fence the falling state, 

Who foremost trod the ranks of fame ? 
Great Kummer, chief of soul elate, 

And stern Sher Khan of deathless name. 

Meer Saduk too, of high renown, 

With him what chieftain could compare ? 

While Mira Hussen * virgins own 
As flowery-bow'd Munmoden fair. 

Soobria Multifj Bubber Jung, £ 

Still foremost in the crush of fight ; 
And he whose martial glory rung § 

From realm to realm, for dauntless might. || 

* Mira Hussen, a chief more famous for his amours than his 
valour. 

f Soobria Mutti, a chief of Mahratta extraction. 

J Bubber Jung, a Mogul chief, who joined Dhoondiah, and was 
killed .in the campaign against that chief. 

§ Baker, a Mogul chief. 

|| The translator is perfectly sensible that the Asiatic names in 
this stanza have somewhat of an uncouth effect, but he nevertheless 
judged it proper to adhere to the Canara original, which enumerates 
accurately the chiefs most approved in the popular opinion. Besides, 
those names which have a ludicrous sound to an European ear, have 
often a very different effect on an Asiatic. Bubber Jung means 
* the tiger of battle." The romance of Emir Humsa celebrates a 
dreadful combat between that hero, the Arabian Hercules, and 
Bubber biab-an, " the tiger of the desart," a monster, almost as 



282 

Khan Jehan Khan *, who stood alone, 

Seid Saheb nextf, himself an host: 
The chiefs round Indra's angel-throne 

Could ne'er such mighty prowess boast. 

Pournia sprung from Brahma's line, 

Intrepid in the martial fray, 
Alike in council formed to shine : — 

How could our Sultan's power decay ? 

Ah ! soon it fled ! how small a weight 

Of nitrous sulphur sped the ball, 
Out-weigh'd to dust a sinking state, 

And bade our gallant Sultan fall ! 

Yet left and right, to guard the throne, 

His brave Moguls would proudly say, 
* c Did e'er this earth one sovereign own, 

Thine, thine were universal sway." 

formidable as the famous Neraean lion. Heng-i-Ishak, the famous 
horse of the warrior, takes fright when he scents the tiger, and deserts 
his master, who courageously seizes the monster by the paws, swings 
him round in the air, and crushes him to pieces by dashing him on 
the ground. — Emir Humsa Persic MS. CX. 

* Khan Jehan Khan, a Bramin forcibly converted. 

f Seid Saheb, the brother-in-law of Tippoo, killed on the ramparl 
at the storm. 



£83 

Careless of fate, of fearless mind, 
They feasted round in many a row : 

One bullet, viewless as the wind, 
Amid them laid the Sultan low. 

Where was God Alla's far-fam'd power, 
Thy boasted inspiration's might ; 

Where, in that unpropitious hour, 
Was fled thy Koran's sacred light? 

Vain was each prayer and high behest, 
When Runga doom'd thy fatal day : 

How small a bullet pierc'd thy breast ! 
How soon thy kingdom past away ! 

Amid his queens of royal race, 

Of princely form the monarch trod ; 

Amid his sons of martial grace, 

The warrior mov'd an earthly God. 

Girt with bold chiefs of prowess high, 
How proud was his imperial sway ! 

Soon as the God of lotus- eye 

Withdrew his smile, it past away. 



284 

Coorg, Cuddapah, and Concan-land — 
Their princely lords of old renown 

To thee outspread the unweapon'd hand, 
And crouch'd at thine imperial frown. 

Proud mountain-chiefs — the lofty crest 
They bent beneath thy scepter'd sway — 

How dire the blow that pierc'd thy breast \ 
How soon thy kingdom pass'd away ! 

The sovereign of proud Delhi's throne, 
That held the prostrate world in awe, 

Sri-Munt whose rule compels alone 
Mahratta tribes devoid of law : 

The Rajahs of the peopled world 

Resign'd their realms in deep dismay, 

Where'er thy victor-flag unfurl'd : — 
How soon thy kingdom pass'd away ! 

From far Singala's region came 
The Anglian race, unknown to fly, 

Revering Runga's sacred name, 

Their red war-banner wav'd on high. 



285 

Our lofty bulwarks down they threw, 
And bade their drums victorious bray : 

Then every earthly good withdrew, 
Then fled Seringa's pomp away. 

Where were the chiefs in combat bred, 
The hosts, in battle's dreadful day ? 

Ah ! soon as Crishna's favour fled, 
Our prince, our kingdom pass'd away. 

How vain is every mortal boast, 

How empty earthly pomp and power ! 

Proud bulwarks crumble down to dust, 
If o'er them adverse fortune lower. 

In Vishnu's lotus-foot alone 

Confide ! his power shall ne'er decay, 
When tumbles every earthly throne, 

And mortal glory fades away. 



286 



ON THE DEATH OF TIPPOO SULTAN. 

FROM THE HINDUSTANI. 



By proud Seringa's castled wall, 
Dire Destiny has sped the ball, 
And we must with our Sultan fall : 

Alas, the gallant Sultan ! 

Dust, dust on every dastard head, 
That meanly shrunk from combat red, 
When sunk amid the heaps of dead, 

With all our hopes, the Sultan ! 

Dire treachery has sapp'd the throne 
On which our chief unconquer'd shone ; 
This, this was granted him alone; — 

Fell masterless the Sultan. 



287 



Accurs'd be Yezid's traitor-seed, 

The faithless wretch who wrought the deed, 

The curse of ages be his meed 

Whose crime destroy'd the Sultan. 

His throne is now the lowly dust, 
Who late was all our earthly trust ; 
Ah ! every mouth was fill'd with dust 

When fell the gallant Sultan. 



SCENES OF INFANCY 

DESCRIPTIVE 

OF 

TEVIOTDALE. 

1803. 



Dulcia rura valete, et Lydia, dulcior illis, 
Et casti fontes, et felix nomen agelli ! 

Valerius Cato. 



IN FOUR PARTS. 



THE THIRD EDITION. 



TO 
THE RIGHT HONOURABLE 

LADY CHARLOTTE CAMPBELL, 

THE 

FOLLOWING POEM 

is 

RESPECTFULLY INSCRIBED, 

AS A SMALL, BUT SINCERE, MARK OF THE AUTHOR'S ESTEEM 
AND ADMIRATION 



HER LADYSHIP'S 

TASTE AND UNDERSTANDING, 

WHICH ARE 

THE DELIGHT OF ALL WHO HAVE THE PLEASURE 

OF HER ACQUAINTANCE. 



U 2 



SCENES OF INFANCY. 

PART I. 



Ben sanno i verdi poggi, e le sonanti 
Selve romite, e Facque 
Che son le mie ricchezze inni soavi: 
Alor la cetra consacrar mi piacque — 

Mekzini. 



u 3 



295 



SCENES OF INFANCY. 



PART I. 



Sweet scenes of youth, to faithful memory dear, 
Still fondly cherish'd with the sacred tear, 
When, in the soften'd light of summer-skies, 
Full on my soul life's first illusions rise ! 
Sweet scenes of youthful bliss, unknown to pain ! 
I come, to trace your soothing haunts again, 
To mark each grace that pleas'd my stripling prime, 
By absence hallow'd, and endear'd by time, 
To lose amid your winding dells the past : — 
Ah ! must I think this lingering look the last ? 
Ye lovely vales, that met my earliest view ! 
How soft ye smil'd, when Nature's charms were new I 
Green was her vesture, glowing, fresh, and warm, 
And every opening grace had power to charm; 
While as each scene in living lustre rose, 
Each young emotion wak'd from soft repose. 

u 4 



E'en as I muse, my former life returns, 
And youth's first ardour in my bosom burns. 
Like music melting in a lover's dream, 
I hear the murmuring song of Teviot's stream : * 

* The river Teviot, which gives its name to the district of Teviot- 
dale, rises in an elevated mountainous tract in the south of Scotland, 
from a rude rock, termed the Teviot-stone, descends through a beau- 
tiful pastoral dale, and falls into the Tweed at Kelso. The vale of 
the river is above thirty miles in length, and comprehends every 
variety of wild, picturesque, and beautiful scenery. The first part of 
its course is confined, and' overshadowed by abrupt and savage hills, 
diversified with smooth green declivities, and fantastic copses of 
natural wood. Beneath Hawick the vale opens, and several beauti- 
ful mountain-streams fall into the river. The meadow-ground 
becomes more extensive, and the declivities more susceptible of cul- 
tivation ; but, in the distance, dark heaths are still seen descending 
from the mountains, which at intervals encroach on the green banks 
of the river. As the stream approaches the Tweed, the scenery 
becomes gradually softer, and in the vicinity of Kelso rivals the 
beauty of an Italian landscape. The name of Teviotdale, a term of 
very considerable antiquity, is not confined solely to the vale of the 
river, but comprehends the county of Roxburgh. In ancient times* 
its acceptation was still more extensive, including the tract of country 
which lies between the ridge of Cheviot and the banks of the Tweed. 
The inhabitants of this frontier-district, inured to war from their 
infancy, had at an early period of Scottish history attained a high 
military reputation ; and the term Teridalen&es, or men of Teviotdale, 
seems to have been once employed as a general epithet for the Dales- 
men in the south of Scotland, They devoted themselves to the life 
of the predatory warrior and the shepherd ; and the intervals of their 
incursions were often employed in celebrating their martial exploit? » 



297 

The crisping rays, that on the waters lie, 
Depict a paler moon, a fainter sky ; 
While through inverted alder boughs belovr 
The twinkling stars with greener lustre glow. 

On these fair banks thine ancient bards no more, 
Enchanting stream ! their melting numbers pour ; 
But still their viewless harps, on poplars hung, 
Sigh the soft airs they learn'd when time was young : 
And those who tread with holy feet the ground, 
At lonely midnight, hear their silver sound ; 
When river breezes wave their dewy wings, 
And lightly fan the wild enchanted strings. 

What earthly hand presumes, aspiring bold, 
The airy harp of ancient bards to hold, 



Hence, this district became the very cradle of Scottish song, in every 
variety of melody, from the harsh and simple, but energetic war- 
songs of the Liddisdale borderers, to the soft and pathetic love- 
strains of the banks of the Tweed. These wild, but pleasing memo- 
rials of former times, though fading fast with every innovation of 
manners, still survive in the memory of the older peasants; and a 
poetical description of the striking features of the country seemed 
naturally to demand allusions to them. These allusions would have 
been more frequent, had not the subject received ample illustration 
in The Minstrelsv of the Scottish Border^ the work of a much- 
esteemed friend. 



298 



With ivy's sacred wreath to crown his head, 
And lead the plaintive chorus of the dead — 
He round the poplar's base shall nightly strew 
The willow's pointed leaves, of pallid blue, 
And still restrain the gaze, reverted keen, 
When round him deepen sighs from shapes unseen, 
And o'er his lonely head, like summer bees, 
The leaves self-moving tremble on the trees. 
WTien morn's first rays fall quivering on the strand, 
Then is the time to stretch the daring hand, 
And snatch it from the bending poplar pale, 
The magic harp of ancient Teviotdale. 

If thou, Aurelia, bless the high design, 
And softly smile, that daring hand is mine ! 
Wild on the breeze the thrilling lyre shall fling 
Melodious accents from each elfin string. 
Such strains the harp of haunted Merlin threw, * 
When from his dreams the mountain-sprites withdrew ; 

* Merlin of Caledonia, from his habits oflife named The Wild, 
is said to have been one of the earliest poets of the south of Scotland 
whose name is preserved by history or tradition. Several composi- 
tions, attributed to him, or relating to him, still exist in the Welsh 
language, and have been lately printed in The Myvyrian Archaio- 
logy of W t ales. Their strain of poetry is obscure, abrupt, and wild, 
but often reaches sublimity and pathos. His poetical reputation 
seems once to have been of greater celebrity than at present. Poole, 



299 

While, trembling to the wires that warbled shrill, 
His apple-blossoms wav'd along the hill. 



in his English Parnassus, p. 387, denominates Homer the Grecian 
Merlin. His poems abound in allusions to the events of his own 
life, which ^eems to have been marked by striking vicissitudes. He 
flourished between the years .530 and 590. According to some 
accounts, he was born at Caerwerthevin, near the forest of Caledon. 
This is probably Carnwath, as Merlin mentions Lanerk in his poems. 
He studied under the famous Taliessin, and became equally illus- 
trious as a poet and a warrior. He was present at the battle of 
Arderyth, Atturith, or Atterith, in 577, where he had the misfortune 
to slay his nephew; and, being soon after seized with madness, he 
buried himself in the forests of the south of Scotland, where, in the 
lucid intervals of frenzy, he lamented his unhappy situation in wild 
pathet : c strains. " I am a wild terrible screamer: raiment covers 
" me not: affl.ction wounds me not: my reason is gone with the 
" gloomy sprites of the mountain, and I myself am sad." In his 
Apple -Tkees, he describes the beautiful orchard which his prince 
had bestowed on him as a reward of his prowess in battle. " Seven 
" score and seven are the fragrant apple-trees, equal in age, height, 
" and magnitude, branching wide and high as a grove of the forest, 
" crowned with lovely foliage, growing on the sunny slope of a green 
" hill, guarded by a lovely nymph with pearly teeth." The recol- 
lection of this gift is excited by the view of an apple-tree, under 
which he appears to have rested during his frenzy. He describes it 
as a majestic tree, loaded with the sweetest fruit, growing in the 
sequestered recesses of the forest of Caledon, shading all, itself 
unshaded. With the recollection of his former situation returns 
his regret ; and he complains to his lonely apple-tree, that he is 
hated by the warriors, and despised by the snowy swans of the Bri- 



300 

Hark ! how the mountain-echoes still retain 
The memory of the prophet's boding strain ! 

" Once more, begirt with many a martial peer, 
Victorious Arthur shall his standard rear, 



tons, who would formerly have wished to have reclined, like the 
harp, in his arms. Then, in a bold prophetic strain, he announces 
the return of Modred, and Arthur, monarch of the martial host. 
" Again shall they rush to the battle of Camlan. Two days, swells the 
" sound of the conflict, and only seven escape from the slaughter." 
Arderyz, Atterith, or Atturith, the scene of the great battle, in which 
Merlin wore the golden torques, or chain of honour, is probably Ette- 
rick. Fordun places the scene of the contest between the Liddel and 
Carwanolow (L.III. c.31. ed. Bower, p. 136.) The celebrated Cam- 
lan may probably have been fought in the vicinity of Falkirk, where 
Camelon, the ancient capital of the Picts, is generally placed. This 
position accords sufficiently well with the situation of the kingdoms 
of the Britons, Scots, and Picts, to be the scene of a grand battle 
between the northern and southern tribes. The grave of Merlin is 
placed by tradition at Drummelzier, in Tweeddale, beneath an aged 
thorn-tree : but his prophetic fame has now obscured his poetical 
reputation. The most striking incidents in the life of the Scottish 
Merlin, the traditions relating to him, and the prophecies which 
he was supposed to have uttered, were, about 1150, collected by 
Geoffrey of Monmouth, in his Vita Merlini Caledonii, a Latin 
poem in hexameter verse, which, in spite of the barbarism of the 
age, apparent in the metrical structure, as well as in the poverty 
and inelegance of the phraseology, displays in some passages a 
pleasing simplicity of description , and a selection of wild and 
striking images. 



SOI 



In ancient pomp his mailed bands display ; 
While nations wondering mark their strange array, 
Their proud commanding port, their giant form, 
The spirit's stride, that treads the northern storm. 
Where fate invites them to the dread repast, 
Dark Cheviot's eagles swarm on every blast ; 
On Camlan bursts the sword's impatient roar ; 
The war-horse wades with champing hoofs in gore 
The scythed car on grating axle rings ; 
Broad o'er the field the ravens join their wings ; 
Above the champions in the fateful hour 
Floats the black standard of the evil power." 

Though many a wondrous tale of elder time 
Shall grace the wild traditionary rhyme, 
Yet, not of warring hosts and faulchion-wounds 
Again the harp of ancient minstrels sounds : 
Be mine to sing the meads, the pensile groves, 
And silver streams, which dear Aurelia loves. 

From wilds of tawny heath and mosses dun, 
Through winding glens scarce pervious to the sun, 
Afraid to glitter in the noon-tide beam, 
The Teviot leads her young, sequester'd stream ; 
Till, far retiring from her native rills, 
She leaves the covert of her sheltering hills, 



302 

And, gathering wide her waters on their way, 
With foamy force emerges into day. 

Where'er she sparkles o'er her silver sand, 
The daisied meads in glowing hues expand ; 
Blue osiers whiten in their bending rows ; 
Broad o'er the stream the pendent alder grows ; 
But, more remote, the spangled fields unfold 
Their bosoms, streak'd with vegetative gold ; 
Gray downs ascending dimple into dales ; 
The silvery birch hangs o'er the sloping vales ; 
While, far remote, where flashing torrents shine, 
In misty verdure towers the tapering pine, 
And dusky heaths in sullen languor lie, 
Where Cheviot's ridges swell to meet the sky. 

As every prospect opens on my view, 
I seem to live departed years anew ; 
When in these wilds a jocund, sportive child, 
Each flower self-sown my heedless hours beguil'd ; 
The wabret leaf*, that by the pathway grew, 
The wild-briar rose, of pale and blushful hue, 

* Wabret, or Wabron, a word of Saxon origin, is the common 
name for the plantain-leaf in Teviotdale. It is not unknown to th« 
elder English poets. Cutwode has introduced it in the following 
fanciful description of a bee going on pilgrimage : *— 



303 

The thistle's rolling wheel, of silken down, 

The blue-bell, or the daisy's pearly crown, 

The gaudy butterfly, in wanton round, 

That, like a living pea-flower, skimm'd the ground. 

Again I view the cairn, and moss-gray stone, 
Where oft at eve I wont to muse alone, 
And vex with curious toil mine infant eye, 
To count the gems that stud the nightly sky, 
Or think, as playful fancy wander'd far, 
How sweet it were to dance from star to star ! 



" He made himself a pair of holy beads : 

The fifty aves were of gooseberries : 
The paternosters, and the holy creeds, 

Were made of red and goodly fair ripe cherries : 

Blessing his mangold with ave-maries t 
And on a staff made of a fennel-stalk 
The beadroll hangs, whilst he along did walk : 

And with the flower, monkshood, makes a cowl ; 

And of a gray dock got himself a gown ; 
And, looking like a fox or holy fool, 

He barbs his little beard, and shaves his crown ; 

And in his pilgrimage goes up and down; 
And with a wabret-leaf he made a wallet, 
With scrip, to beg his crumbs, and pick his sallet." 

Cutwode's Caltha Poetarum, Stanz. 110, 117. 



304 



Again I view each rude romantic glade, 
Where once with tiny steps my childhood stray 'd 
To watch the foam-bells of the bubbling brook, 
Or mark the motions of the clamorous rook, 
Who saw her nest, close thatch'd with ceaseless toil, 
At summer-eve become the woodman's spoil. 

How lightly then I chas'd from flower to flower 
The lazy bee, at noon-tide's languid hour, 
When, pausing faint beneath the sweltering heat, 
The hive could scarce their drowsy hum repeat ! 

Nor scenes alone with summer-beauties bright, 
But winter's terrors brought a wild delight, 
With fringed flakes of snow that idly sail, 
And windows tinkling shrill with dancing hail ; 
While, as the drifting tempest darker blew, 
White showers of blossoms seem'd the fields to strew. 

Again, beside this silver riv'let's shore, 
With green and yellow moss-flowers mottled o'er, 
Beneath a shivering canopy reclin'd 
Of aspen leaves, that wave without a wind, 
I love to lie, when lulling breezes stir 
The spiry cones that tremble on the fir, 



305 



Or wander mid the dark -green fields of broom, 
When peers in scattered tufts the yellow bloom, , 
Or trace the path with tangling furze o'er-run ; 
When bursting seed-bells crackle in the sun, 
And pittering grasshoppers *, confus'dly shrill, 
Pipe giddily along the glowing hill. 

* The pittering grasshopper occurs in " Oberon's Diet," a poem 
quoted in Poole's English Parnassus, 1677, p. 356. 
" A little mushroom table spread, 
After a dance, they set on tread ; 
A yellow corn of parkey wheat, 
With some small sandy grits to eat 
His choice bits with ; and in a trice 
They make a feast less great than nice. 
But all the while his eye was serv'd, 
We cannot think his ear was starv'd, 
But that there was in place to stir 
His ears the pittering grasshopper." 
This passage is taken from Herrick's Hesperides, 1648, p. 136, but 
yery unfaithfully. In the original author, it runs thus : 
" A little mushroom table spread, 

After short prayers, they set on bread ; 
A moon-parch'd grain of purest wheat, 
With some small glittering grit, to eat 
His choice bits with ; then in a trice 
They make a feast less great than nice. 
But, all this while his eye is serv'd, 
We must not think his ear was starv'd, 
But that there was in place to stir 
His spleen the chirring grasshopper." 



306 

Sweet grasshopper, who lov'st at noon to lie 
Serenejy in the green-ribb'd clover's eye, 
To sun thy filmy wings and emerald vest, 
Unseen thy form, and undisturb'd thy rest I 
Oft have I listening mus'd the sultry day, 
And wonder'd what thy chirping song might say ; 
When nought was heard along the blossom'd lea, 
To join thy music, save the listless bee. 

Since with weak step I trac'd each rising down, 
Nor dream'd of worlds beyond yon mountains brown, 
These scenes have ever to my heart been dear ; 
But still, Aurelia, most, when thou wert near ! 

On Eden's banks, in pensive fit reclin'd, 
Thy angel-features haunted still my mind ; 
And oft, when ardent fancy spurn'd control, 
The living image rush'd upon my soul, 
FilPd all my heart, and mid the bustling crowd 
Bade me forgetful muse or think aloud; 
While, as I sigh'd thy favourite scenes to view, 
Each lingering hour seemed lengthening as it flew. 
As Ovid, banish'd from his favourite fair, 
No gentle melting heart his grief to share, 
Was wont in plaintive accents to deplore 
Campania's scenes, along the Getic shore ; 



307 

A lifeless waste, unfann'd by vernal breeze, 
Where snow-flakes hung like leaves upon the trees : 
The fur-clad savage lov'd his aspect mild, * 
Kind as a father, gentle as a child, 

* The following passages of Ovid's Elegies will elucidate this allu- 
sion. Some have supposed that the traditions of the country still 
preserve the memory of the illustrious exile. 

* Nee sumus hie odio, nee scilicet esse meremur ; 

Nee cum fortuna mens quoque versa mea est. 
Ilia quies animo, quam tu laudare solebas, 

Ille vetus solito perstat in ore pudor — 
Hoc facit, ut misero faveant adsintque Tomitae ; 

Haec quoniam tellus testificanda mi hi est : 
Illi me, quia velle vident, discedere malunt; 

Respectu cupiunt hie tamen esse sui. 
Nee mihi credideris : extant decreta quibus nos 

Laudat, et immunes publica cera facit : 
Conveniens miseris haec quamquam gloria non est, 

Proxima dant nobis oppida munus idem. 

Be Ponto, Lib. IV. Eleg. 9. 
Ah pudet, et Getico scripsi sermon e libellum, 

Structaque sunt nostris barbara verba modis; 
Et placui, gratare mihi, ccepique poetae 

Inter inhuraanos nomen habere Getas. 
Materiam quaeris ? laudes de Csesare dixi : 

Adjuta est novitas numine nostra Dei — 
Haec ubi non patria perlegi scripta Camena, 

Venit et ad digitos ultima charta meos, 

Et caput et plenas omnes movere pharetras, 

Et longum Getico murmur in ore fuit. 

Id. Lib. IV. Eleg. 15. 
x 2 



308 



And though they pitied, still they bless'd the doom, 
That bade the Getse hear the songs of Rome. 

Sweet scenes, conjoin'd with all that most endears 
The cloudless morning of my tender years ! 
With fond regret your haunts I wander o'er, 
And wondering feel myself the child no more : 
Your forms, your sunny tints, are still the same ; — 
But sad the tear which lost affections claim. 

Aurelia ! mark yon silver clouds unroll'd, 
Where far in ether hangs each shining fold, 
That on the breezy billow idly sleeps, 
Or climbs ambitious up the azure steeps ! 
Their snowy ridges seem to heave and swell 
With airy domes, where parted spirits dwell ; 
Untainted souls, from this terrestrial mould 
Who fled, before the priest their names had told. 

On such an eve as this, so mild and clear, 
I follow'd to the grave a sister's bier. 
As sad by Teviot I retir'd alone, 
The setting sun with silent splendour shone ; 
Sublime emotions reach'd my purer mind ; 
The fear of death, the world was left behind. 






309 



I saw the thin-spread clouds of summer lie, 
Like shadows, on the soft cerulean sky : 
As each its silver bosom seem'd to bend, 
Rapt fancy heard an angel-voice descend, 
Melodious as the strain which floats on high, 
To soothe the sleep of blameless infancy ; 
While, soft and slow, aerial music flow'd, 
To hail the parted spirit on its road. 
" To realms of purer light," it seem'd to say, 
" Thyself as pure, fair sufferer, come away ! 
" The moon, whose silver beams are bath'd in dew, 
" Sleeps on her mid-way cloud of softest blue ; 
(i Her watefy light, that trembles on the tree, 
" Shall safely lead thy viewless steps to me." 
As o'er my heart the sweet illusions stole, 
A wilder influence charm'd and aw'd my soul ; 
Each graceful form that vernal nature wore 
Rous'd keen sensations never felt before ; 
The woodland's sombre shade that peasants fear, 
The haunted mountain-streams that murmur'd near, 
The antique tomb-stone, and the church-yard green, 
Seem'd to unite me with the world unseen. 
Oft, when the eastern moon rose darkly red, 
I heard the viewless paces of the dead, 
Heard on the breeze the wandering spirits sigh. 
Or airy skirts unseen that rustled by. 

x 3 



310 

The lyre of woe, that oft had sooth'd my pain, 
Soon learn'd to breathe a more heroic strain, 
And bade the weeping birch her branches wave 
In mournful murmurs o'er the warrior's grave. 

Where rising Teviot -joins the Frostylee, 
Stands the huge trunk of many a leafless tree. 
No verdant wood-bine wreaths their age adorn ; 
Bare are the boughs, the knarled roots uptorn. 
Here shone no sun-beam, fell no summer-dew, 
Nor ever grass beneath the branches grew, 
Since that bold chief who Henry's power defied, * 
True to his country, as a traitor died. 

* The song of " Johnie Armstrang" is still universally popular 
on the Scottish Border, and was so great a favourite among the 
inhabitants of the northern counties of England, that the residence 
of the hero was transferred from the higher Teviotdale to West- 
moreland, as in the beginning of the well-known English ballad, 

" Is there ever a man in Westmoreland" 

This famous Border warrior was brother of the chief pf the Arm- 
strongs, once a powerful clan on the Scottish March. He resided 
at Gilnockie, the ruins of which are still to be seen at the Hollows, 
a beautiful romantic scene, a few miles from Langholm. By his 
power, or his depredations, having incurred the animosity and jea- 
lousy of some of the powerful nobles at the court of James V. he 
was enticed to the camp of that prince, during a rapid expedition 
to the Border, about 1550, and hanged, with all his retinue, on 
growing trees, at Carlenrig chapel, about ten miles above Hawick. 



311 



Yon mouldering cairns, by ancient hunters plac'd, 
Where blends the meadow with the marshy waste, 
Mark where the gallant warriors lie : — but long 
Their fame shall flourish in the Scotian song ; 
The Scotian song, whose deep impulsive tones . 
Each thrilling fibre, true to passion, owns, 
When, soft as gales o'er summer seas that blow, 
The plaintive music warbles love-lorn woe, 
Or, wild and loud, the fierce exulting strain 
Swells its bold notes triumphant o'er the slain. 

Such themes inspire the Border shepherd's tale, 
When in the gray thatch sounds the fitful gale, 
And constant wheels go round with whirling din, 
As by red ember-light the damsels spin : 
Each chaunts by turns the song his soul approves, 
Or bears the burthen to the maid he loves. 



The graves of Armstrong and his company are still shown, in a 
deserted church-yard in its vicinity. The Borderers, especially the 
clan of the Armstrongs, reprobated this act of severity, and narrated 
his fate in a beautiful dirge, which exhibits many traces of pure 
natural feeling, while it is highly descriptive of the manners of the 
time. It is still a current tradition, that the trees on which he 
and his men were hanged were immediately blasted, and withered 
away. His spirited expostulation with the Scottish king is genuine 
history, being related by Lindsay of Pitscottie. Vid. " Minstrelsy of 
the Scottish Border," vol. I. p. 35. 

X 4 



312 



Still to the surly strain of martial deeds, 
In cadence soft, the dirge of love succeeds, 
With tales of ghosts that haunt unhallow'd ground ; 
While narrowing still the circle closes round, 
Till, shrinking pale from nameless shapes of fear, 
Each peasant starts his neighbour's voice to hear. 

What minstrel wrought these lays of magic power, 
A swain once taught me in his summer-bower, 
As round his knees in playful age I hung, 
And eager listen'd to the lays he sung. 

Where Bortha* hoarse, that loads the meads with 
sand, 
Rolls her red tide to Teviot's western strand, 

* Bortha, the rivulet Borthwick, which falls into the Teviot a 
little above Hawick. The vale was formerly inhabited by a race of 
Scotts, retainers of the powerful family of Harden, famed in Border 
history for the extent of their depredations. The lands they pos- 
sessed were chiefly overgrown with heath, and were well described 
by that couplet, in which Scott of Satchells, in his History of the 
name of Scott, characterizes the territories of Buccleugh : 

" Had heather-bells been corn of the best, 
Buccleugh had had a noble grist." 

Tradition relates, that, amid the plunder of household furniture 
hastily carried off by them, in one of their predatory incursions, a 
child was found enveloped in the heap, who was adopted into the 
clan, and fostered by Mary Scott, commonly known by the epithet 



813 



Through slaty hills whose sides are shagg'd with thorn, 

Where springs in scatter'd tufts the dark-green com, 

Towers wood-girt Harden far above the vale ; 

And clouds of ravens o'er the turrets sail. 

A hardy race, who never shrunk from war, 

The Scott, to rival realms a mighty bar, 

Here fix'd his mountain-home ; — a wide domain, 

And rich the soil, had purple heath been grain ; 

But, what the niggard ground of wealth denied, 

From fields more bless'd his fearless arm supplied. 

The waning harvest-moon shone cold and bright ; 
The warder's horn was heard at dead of night ; 



of the Flower of Yarrow, who married the celebrated Watt, or 
Walter, of Harden, about the latter part of the sixteenth century. 
This child of fortune became afterwards celebrated as a poet, and 
is said to have composed many of the popular songs of the Border; 
but tradition has not preserved his name. It is curious, that a 
similar tradition exists among the Macgregors; in one of whose 
predatory incursions into Lennox, a child in a cradle was carried 
off among the plunder. He was, in like manner, adopted into the 
clan ; and, on the proscription of the Macgregors, composed many 
pathetic songs in which he lamented their fall. The greater part 
of these still exist, and might perhaps throw some light on that 
horrid transaction ; but a history of the Highland clans, illustrated 
by authenticated facts and traditional poetry, is still a desideratum 
in Scottish literature. 



314 



And, as the massy portals wide were flung, 
With stamping hoofs the rocky pavement rung. 
What fair, half-veil'd, leans from her lattic'd hall, 
Where red the wavering gleams of torch-light fall ? 
'Tis Yarrow's fairest flower, who through the gloom 
Looks wistful for her lover's dancing plume. 
Amid the piles of spoil that strew'd the ground, 
Her ear, all anxious, caught a wailing sound ; 
With trembling haste the youthful matron flew, 
And from the hurried heaps an infant drew : 
Scar'd at the light, his little hands he flung 
Around her neck, and to her bosom clung ; 
While beauteous Mary sooth'd in accents mild 
His fluttering soul, and clasp'd her foster-child. 
Of milder mood the gentle captive grew, 
Nor lov'd the scenes that scar'd his infant view. 
In vales remote, from camps and castles far, 
He shunn'd the fearful shuddering joy of war ; 
Content the loves of simple swains to sing, 
Or wake to fame the harp's heroic string. 

His are the strains, whose wandering echoes thrill 
The shepherd lingering on the twilight hill, 
When evening brings the merry folding-hours, 
And sun-eyed daisies close their winking flowers. 



515 

He liv'd, o'er Yarrow's Flower to shed the tear, 
To strew the holly's leaves o'er Harden's bier ; 
But none was found above the minstrel's tomb, 
Emblem of peace, to bid the daisy bloom : 
He, nameless as the race from which he sprung, 
Sav'd other names, and left his own unsung. 

Nurs'd in these wilds, a lover of the plains, 
I sing, like him, the joys of inland swains, 
Who climb their loftiest mountain-peaks, to view 
From far the cloud-like waste of ocean blue. 
But not, like his, with unperceiv'd decay 
My days in fancy's dreams shall melt away ; 
For soon yon sun, that here so softly gleams, 
Shall see me tossing on the ocean-streams. 
Yet still 'tis sweet to trace each youthful scene, 
And conjure up the days which might have been, 
Live o'er the fancied suns which ne'er shall roll, 
And woo the charm of song to soothe my soul, 
Paint the fair scenes which charm'd when life began, 
And in the infant stamp' d the future man. 

From yon green peak black haunted Slata * brings 
The gushing torrents of uafathom'd springs: 

* Slata is the Sletrig, which rises on the skirts of Wineburgh, 
runs through a wild romantic district, and falls into the Teviot at 



316 

In a dead lake, that ever seems to freeze, 
By sedge inclos'd from every ruffling breeze, 
The fountains lie ; and shuddering peasants shrink 
To plunge the stone within the fearful brink : 
For here, 'tis said, the fairy hosts convene, 
With noisy talk, and bustling steps unseen ; 



Hawick. Wineburgh, from which it derives its source, is a green 
kill of considerable height, regarded by the peasants as a resort of 
the fairies, the sound of whose revels is said to be often heard by 
the shepherd, while he is unable to see them. On its top is a 
small, deep, and black lake, believed by the peasants to be bottom- 
less; to disturb the waters- of which, by throwing stones into it, is 
reckoned offensive to the spirits of the mountain. Tradition relates, 
that, about the middle of last century, a stone having been inad- 
vertently cast into it by a shepherd, a deluge of water burst sud- 
denly from the hill, swelled the rivulet Sletrig, and inundated the 
town of Hawick. However fabulous be this assigned cause of the 
inundation, the fact of the inundation itself is ascertained, and was 
probably the consequence of the bursting of a water-spout on the 
hill of Wineburgh. Lakes and pits on the tops of mountains are 
regarded in the Border with a degree of superstitious horror, as the 
porches or entrances of the subterraneous habitations of the fairies ; 
from which confused murmurs, the cries of children, moaning 
voices, the ringing of bells, and the sounds of musical instruments, 
are often supposed to be heard. Round these hills, the green fairy 
circles are believed to wind in a spiral direction, till they reach the 
descent to the central cavern ; so that if the unwary traveller be 
benighted on the charmed ground, he is inevitably conducted by an 
invisible power to the fearful deseont. 



317 



The hill resounds with strange, unearthly cries ; 
And moaning voices from the waters rise. 
Here oft in sweetest sounds is heard the chime 
Of bells unholy from the fairy clime ; 
The tepid gales, that in these regions blow, 
Oft on the brink dissolve the mountain-snow ; 
Around the deep that seeks the downward sky, 
In mazes green the haunted ringlets lie. 
Woe to the upland swain who, wandering far, 
The circle treads beneath the evening star ! 
Hie feet the witch-grass green impels to run 
Full on the dark descent he strives to shun ; 
Till, on the giddy brink, o'erpower'd by charms, 
The fairies clasp him in unhallow'd arms, 
Doom'd with the crew of restless foot to stray 
The earth by night, the nether realms by day ; 
Till seven long years their dangerous circuit run, 
And call the wretch to view this upper sun. 
Nor long the time, if village-saws be true, 
Since in the deep a hardy peasant threw 
A ponderous stone; when, murmuring from below, 
With gushing sound he heard the lake o'erflow. 
The mighty torrent, foaming down the hills, 
Call'd with strong voice on all her subject rills ; 
Rocks drove on jagged rocks with thundering sound, 
And the red waves impatient rent their mound ; 



318 



On Hawick burst the flood's resistless sway, 
Plough'd the pav'd streets, and tore the walls away, 
Floated high roofs, from whelming fabricks torn ; 
While pillar'd arches down the wave were borne. 

Boast ! Hawick *, boast ! Thy structures, rear'd in 
blood, 
Shall rise triumphant over flame and flood, 
Still doom'd to prosper, since on Flodden's field 
Thy sons, a hardy band, unwont to yield, 
Fell with their martial king, and (glorious boast !) 
Gain'd proud renown where Scotia's fame was lost. 

Between red ezlar banks, that frightful scowl, 
Fring'd with gray hazel, roars the mining Roull ; 
Where Turnbulls f once, a race no power could awe, 
Lin'd the rough skirts of stormy Ruberslaw. 

* Few towns in Scotland have been so frequently subjected to 
the ravages of war as Hawick. Its inhabitants were famous for 
their military prowess. At the fatal battle of Flodden they were 
Bearly exterminated ; but the survivors gallantly rescued their 
standard from the disaster of the day. 

f The valley of the Roul, or Rule, was till a late period chiefly 
inhabited by the Turnbulls, descendants of a hardy, turbulent clan, 
that derived its name and origin from a man of enormous strength, 
^ho rescued king Robert Bruce, when hunting in the forest of 
Caliender, from the attack of a Scottish bison. The circumstance 



319 



Bold was the chief, from whom their line they drew, 

Whose nervous arm the furious bison slew ; 

The bison, fiercest race of Scotia's breed, 

Whose bounding course outstripped the red deer's speed. 

By hunters chaf 'd, encircled on the plain, 

He frowning shook his yellow lion-mane, 

Spurn'd with black hoof in bursting rage the ground, 

And fiercely toss'd his moony horns around. 

On Scotia's lord he rush'd with lightning speed, 

Bent his strong neck, to toss the startled steed ; 

His arms robust the hardy hunter flung 

Around his bending horns, and upward wrung, 

With writhing force his neck retorted round, 

And roll'd the panting monster on the ground, 

Crush'd with enormous strength his bony skull ; 

And courtiers hail'd the man who turn'd the bull. 



is mentioned by Boece, in his history of Scotland. He describes 
the Scottish bison as of a white colour, with a crisp and curling 
mane, like a lion. It abhorred the sight of men, and attacked them 
with dreadful impetuosity ,• if; refused to taste the grass, for several 
days, that had been touched by man, and died of grief when taken 
and confined. Its motion was swift and bounding, resembling that 
of a deer, the agile make of which it combined in its form with the 
strength of the ox. The breed is now extinct. From this action, 
the name of^ the hero was changed from Rule to Turnbull, and he 
received a grant of the lands of Bedrule. 



3Q0 



How wild and harsh the moorland music floats, 
When clamorous curlews scream with long-drawn notes, 
Or, faint and piteous, wailing plovers pipe. 
Or, loud and louder still, the soaring snipe ! 
And here the lonely lapwing whoops along, 
That piercing shrieks her still-repeated song, 
Flaps her blue wing, displays her pointed crest, 
And cowering lures the peasant from her nest. 
But if where all her dappled treasure lies 
He bend his steps, no more she round him flies ; 
Forlorn, despairing of a mother's skill, 
Silent and sad, she seeks the distant hill. 

The tiny heath-flowers now begin to blow ; * 
The russet moor assumes a richer glow ; 

* " In the deserts and moors of this realm,'* says Boece, " grows 
an herb named heather, very nutritive to beasts, birds, and especiallj 
to bees. In the month of June it produces a flower of purple hue, 
as sweet as honey. Of this flower the Picts made a delicious and 
wholesome liquor. The manner of making it has perished with the 
extermination of the Picts, as they never showed the craft of making 
it, except to their own blood." The traditions of Teviotdale add 
that, when the Pictish nations were exterminated, it was found that 
only two persons had survived the slaughter, a father and a son. 
They were brought before Kenneth, the conqueror, and their life 
was offered them, on condition the father would discover the method 
of making the heath-liquor. " Put this young man to death, then," 
said the hoary warrior. The barbarous terms were complied with J 



321 



The powdery bells, that glance in purple bloom, 
Fling from their scented cups a sweet perfume ; 
While from their cells, still moist with morning dew, 
The wandering wild bee sips the honied glue : 
In wider circle wakes the liquid hum, 
And far remote the mingled murmurs come. 

Where, panting, in his chequer'd plaid involv'd, 
At noon the listless shepherd lies dissolv'd, 
Mid yellow crow-bells, on the riv'let's banks, 
Where knotted rushes twist in matted ranks, 



and he was required to fulfil his engagement. " Now, put me to 
death, too," replied he. " You shall never know the secret. Your 
threats might have influenced my son ; but they are lost on me." 
The king condemned the veteran savage to life; and tradition 
further relates, that his life, as the punishment of his crime, was 
prolonged far beyond the ordinary term of mortal existence. When 
some ages had passed, and the ancient Pict was blind and bed-rid, 
he overheard some young men vaunting of their feats of strength. 
He desired to feel the wrist of one of them, in order to compare 
the strength of modern men with those of the times which were 
only talked of as a fable. They reached to him a bar of iron, which 
he broke between his hands, saying, " You are not feeble, but you 
cannot be compared to the men of ancient times." Such are the 
romantic forms which historical facts assume, after long tradition • 
and such are the original materials of popular poetry. 

Y 



322 



The breeze, that trembles through the whistling bent, 

Sings in his placid ear of sweet content, 

And wanton blows with eddies whirling weak 

His yellow hair across his ruddy cheek. 

His is the lulling music of the rills, 

Where, drop by drop, the scanty current spills 

Its waters o'er the shelves that wind across, 

Or filters through the yellow, hairy moss. 

'Tis his, recumbent by the well-spring clear, 

When leaves are broad, and oats are in the ear, 

And marbled clouds contract the arch on high, 

To read the changes of the flecker'd sky ; 

What bodes the fiery drake at sultry noon ; 

What rains or winds attend the changing moon, 

When circles round her disk of yellowish hue 

Portentous close, while yet her horns are new ; 

Or, when the evening sky looks mild and gray, 

If crimson tints shall streak the opening day. 

Such is the science to the peasant dear, 

Which guides his labour through the varied year ; 

While he, ambitious mid his brother swains 

To shine, the pride and wonder of the plains, 

Can in the pimpernel's red-tinted flowers, 

As close their petals, read the measured hours, 

Or tell, as short or tall his shadow falls, 

How clicks the clock within the manse's walls. 



323 

Though with the rose's flaring crimson dye 
The heath-flower's modest blossom ne'er can vie, 
Nor to the bland caresses of the gale 
Of morn, like her, expand the purple veil, 
The swain, who mid her fragrance finds repose, 
Prefers her tresses to the gaudy rose, 
And bids the wild bee, her companion, come 
To sooth his slumbers with her airy hum. 

Sweet, modest flower, in lonely deserts dun 
Retiring still for converse with the sun, 
Whose sweets invite the soaring lark to stoop, 
And from thy cells the honied dew-bell scoop, 
Though unobtrusive all thy beauties shine, 
Yet boast, thou rival of the purpling vine ! 
For once thy mantling juice was seen to laugh 
In pearly cups, which monarchs lov'd to quaff; 
And frequent wake the wild inspired lay, 
On Teviot's hills, beneath the Pictish sway. 

When clover-fields have lost their tints of green, 
And beans are full, and leaves are blanch'd and lean, 
And winter's piercing breath prepares to drain 
The thin green blood from every poplar's vein, 
How grand the scene yon russet down displays, 
While far the withering heaths with moor-burn blaze ! 

y 2 



The pillar'd smoke ascends with ashen gleam ; 
Aloft in air the arching flashes stream ; 
With rushing, crackling noise the flames aspire, 
And roll one deluge of devouring fire ; 
The timid flocks shrink from the smoky heat, 
Their pasture leave, and in confusion bleat, 
With curious look the flaming billows scan, 
As whirling gales the red combustion fan. 

So, when the storms through Indian forests rave, 
And bend the pliant canes in curling wave, 
Grind their silicious joints with ceaseless ire, 
Till bright emerge the ruby seeds of fire, 
A brazen light bedims the burning sky, 
And shuts each shrinking star's refulgent eye ; 
The forest roars, where crimson surges play, 
And flash through lurid night infernal day ; 
Floats far and loud the hoarse, discordant yell 
Of ravening pards, which harmless crowd the dell 
While boa-snakes to wet savannahs trail 
Awkward a lingering, lazy length of tail ; 
The barbarous tiger whets Ins fangs no more, 
To lap with torturing pause his victim's gore ; 
Curb'd of their rage, hyenas gaunt are tame, 
And shrink, begirt with all-devouring flame. 



325 



But far remote, ye careful shepherds, lead 
Your wanton flocks to pasture on the mead, 
While from the flame the bladed grass is young, 
Nor crop the slender spikes that scarce have sprung ; 
Else, your brown heaths to sterile wastes you doom, 
While frisking lambs regret the heath-flower's bloom ! 
And ah ! when smiles the day, and fields are fair, 
Let the black smoke ne'er clog the burthen'd air ! 
Or soon, too soon, the transient smile shall fly, 
And chilling mildews ripen in the sky, 
The heartless flocks shrink shivering from the cold, 
Reject the fields, and linger in the fold. 

Lo ! in the vales, where wandering riv'lets run, 
The fleecy mists shine gilded in the sun, 
Spread their loose folds, till now the lagging gale 
Unfurls no more its lightly skimming sail, 
But through the hoary flakes, that fall like snow, 
Gleams in ethereal hue the watery bow. 
'Tis ancient Silence, rob'd in thistle-down, 
Whose snowy locks its fairy circles crown ; 
His vesture moves not, as he hovers lone, 
While curling fogs compose his airy throne ; 
Serenely still, self-pois'd, he rests on high, 
And soothes each infant breeze that fans the sky* 



326 



The mists ascend ; — the mountains scarce are free, 

Like islands floating in a billowy sea ; 

While on their chalky summits glimmering dance 

The sun's last rays across the gray expanse : 

As sink the hills in waves that round them grow, 

The hoary surges scale the cliff's tall brow ; 

The fleecy billows o'er its head are hurl'd, 

As ocean once embrac'd the prostrate world. 

So, round Cafrraria's cape the polar storm 
Collects black spiry clouds of dragon form : 
Flash livid lightnings o'er the blackening deep, 
Whose mountain-waves in silent horror sleep ; 
The sanguine sun, again emerging bright, 
Darts through the clouds long watery lines of light ; 
The deep, congeal'd to lead, now heaves again, 
While foamy surges furrow all the main ; 
Broad shallows whiten in tremendous row ; 
Deep gurgling murmurs echo from below; 
And o'er each coral reef the billows come and go. 



+ 



Oft have I wander'd in my vernal years 
Where Ruberslaw his misty summit rears, 
And, as the fleecy surges clos'd amain, 
To gain the top have trac'd that shelving lane, 



327 

Where every shallow stripe of level green, 
That winding runs the shatter'd crags between, 
Is rudely notch'd across the grassy rind 
In awkward letters by the rural hind. 
When fond and faithful swains assemble gay, 
To meet their loves on rural holiday, 
The trace of each obscure, decaying name 
Of some fond pair records the secret flame. 
And here the village-maiden bends her way, 
When vows are broke, and fading charms decay, 
Sings her soft sorrow to the mountain gale, 
And weeps, that love's delusions e'er should fail. 
Here too the youthful widow comes, to clear 
From weeds a name to fond affection dear : 
She pares the sod, with bursting heart, and cries, 
" The hand, that trac'd it, in the cold grave lies !" 

Ah ! dear Aurelia ! when this arm shall guide 
Thy twilight steps no more by Teviot's side, 
When I to pine in eastern realms have gone, 
And years have pass'd, and thou remain'st alone, 
Wilt thou, still partial to thy youthful flame, 
Regard the turf where first I carv'd thy name, 
And think thy wanderer, far beyond the sea, 
False to his heart, was ever true to thee ? 

y 4 



328 



Why bend, so sad, that kind, regretful view, - 

As every moment were my last adieu ? 

Ah ! spare that tearful look, 'tis death to see, 

Nor break the tortur'd heart that bleeds for thee ! 

That snowy cheek, that moist and gelid brow, 

Those quivering lips, that, breathe the unfmish'd vow,. 

These eyes, that still with dimming tears o'erflow, 

Will haunt me, when thou canst not see my woe. 

Not yet, with fond but self-accusing pain, 

Mine eyes reverted linger o'er the main ; 

But, sad, as he that dies in early spring, 

When flowers begin to blow, and larks to sing, 

When nature's joy a moment warms his heart, 

And makes it doubly hard with life to part, 

I hear the whispers of the dancing gale, 

And fearful listen for the flapping sail, 

Seek in these natal shades a short relief, 

And steal a pleasure from maturing grief. 

Yes ! in these shades, this fond, adoring mind 
Had hop'd in thee a dearer self to find, 
Still from thy form some lurking grace to glean, 
And wonder it so long remain'd unseen ; 
Hop'd, those seducing graces might impart 
Their native sweetness to this sterner heart, 



329 



While those dear eyes, in pearly light that shine, 

Fond thought ! should borrow manlier beams from mine. 

Ah ! fruitless hope of bliss, that ne'er shall be ! 

Shall but this lonely heart survive to me ? 

No ! in the temple of my purer mind 

Thine imag'd form shall ever live enshrin'd, 

And hear the vows, to first affection due, 

Still breath'd — for love that ceases ne'er was true. 



SCENES OF INFANCY. 



PART II. 



I sing of brooks, of blossoms, birds, and bowers, 
Of April, May, of June, and July flowers ; — 
I write of groves, of twilight; and I sing 
The Court of Mab, and of the Fairy-king: 
I write of youth, of love, tyc. 

Herrick's Hesperides. 



333 



SCENES OF INFANCY. 



PART II. 



Star of the mead ! sweet daughter of the day, 
Whose opening flower invites the morning ray, 
From thy moist cheek and bosom's chilly fold 
To kiss the tears of eve, the dew-drops cold ! 
Sweet daisy, flower of love ! when birds are pair'd, 
'Tis sweet to see thee, with thy bosom bar'd, 
Smiling in virgin innocence serene, 
Thy pearly crown above thy vest of green. 
The lark, with sparkling eye and rustling wing, 
Rejoins his widow'd mate in early spring, 
And, as he prunes his plumes of russet hue, 
Swears on thy maiden blossom to be true. 

When May-day comes, the morning of the year, 
And from young April dries the gelid tear, 



3Si< 

When, as the verdure spreads, the bird is seen 
No more, that sings amid the hawthorns green, 
In lovelier tints thy swelling blossoms blow, 
The leaflets red between the leaves of snow. 
The damsel now, whose love-awaken 'd mind 
First hopes to leave her infancy behind, 
Glides o'er the untrodden mead at dawning hour, 
To seek the matin-dew of mystic power, 
Bends o'er the mirror-stream with blushful air, 
And weaves thy modest flower amid her hair. 

Oft have I watch'd thy closing buds at eve, 
Which for the parting sun-beams seem'd to grieve, 
And, when gay morning gilt the dew-bright plain, 
Seen them unclasp their folded leaves again : 
Nor he, who sung — " The daisy is so sweet," # — 
More dearly lov'd thy pearly form to greet ; 
When on his scarf the knight the daisy bound, 
And dames at tourneys shone with daisies crown'd, 

* Few of our English poets have celebrated the daisy so much as 
Chaucer, who lost no opportunity of singing its praise. In the days 
of chivalry, the daisy was the emblem of fidelity in love; and was 
frequently borne at tournaments, both by ladies and knights. Alces- 
tis was supposed to have been metamorphosed into this flower, and 
was therefore reckoned " the daisy-queen." Chaucer beautifully 
describes the procession of the daisy-queen and her nymphs with 
the God of love, in the prologue to his Legend of Good Women* 



33S 

And fays forsook the purer fields above, 
To hail the daisy, flower of faithful love. 

Ne'er have I chanc'd upon the moonlight-green, 
In May's sweet month, to see the daisy-queen, 
With all her train in emerald vest array'd ; 
As Chaucer once the radiant show survey'd. 
Graceful and slow advanc'd the stately fair ; 
A sparkling fillet bound her golden hair ; 
With snowy florouns was her chaplet set, 
Where living rubies rais'd each curious fret, 
Sweet as the daisy, in her vernal pride ; 
The god of love attendant by her side : 
His silken vest was purfled o'er with green, 
And crimson rose-leaves wrought the sprigs between ; 
His diadem, a topaz, beam'd so bright, 
The moon was dazzled with its purer light. 

This Chaucer saw ; but fancy's power denies 
Such splendid visions to our feebler eyes : 
Yet sure, with nymphs as fair, by Teviot's strand, 
I oft have roam'd, to see the flower expand ; 
When, like the daisy-nymph, above the rest 
Aurelia's peerless beauty shone confest. 
Lightly we danc'd in many a frolic ring, 
And welcom'd May with every flower of spring : 



336 

Each smile, that sparkled in her artless eye, 
Nor own'd her passion, nor could quite deny ; 
As blithe I bath'd her flushing cheek with dew, 
And on the daisy swore to love her true. 

Still in these meads, beside the daisy-flower, 
I love to see the spiky rye-grass tower ; 
While o'er the folding swathes the mowers bend, 
And sharpening scythes their grating echoes send 
Far o'er the thymy fields. With frequent pause, 
His s weepy stroke the lusty mower draws, 
Impels the circling blade with sounding sway, 
Nods to the maids that spread the winnowing hay, 
Draws from the grass the wild bee's honied nest, 
And hands to her he prizes o'er the rest. 

Again the ruthless weapon sweeps the ground ; 
And the gray corn*craik trembles at the sound. * 
Her callow brood around her cowering cling — 
She braves its edge — she mourns her sever'd wing. 
Oft had she taught them with a mother's love 
To note the pouncing merlin from the dove, 
The slowly floating buzzard's eye to shun, 
As o'er the meads he hovers in the sun, 

* The Corn-craik is a provincial term, by which the Rail is deno- 
minated in many parts of England and Scotland. 



33? 

The weazePs sly imposture to prevent, 
And mark the martin by his musky scent : — 
Ah ! fruitless skill, which taught her not to scan 
The scythe afar, and ruthless arm of man ! 
In vain her mate, as evening shadows fall, 
.Shall lingering wait for her accustom'd call; 
The shepherd boys shall oft her loss deplore, 
That mock'd her notes beside the cottage-door. 

The noon-breeze pauses now, that lightly blew ; 
The brooding sky assumes a darker hue ; 
Blue watery streaks, diverging, downwards run, 
Like rays of darkness, from the lurid sun ; 
The shuddering leaves of fern are trembling still ; 
A horrid stillness creeps from hill to hill ; 
A conscious tremor nature seems to feel, 
And silent waits the thunder's awful peal. 
'The veil is burst ; — the brazen concave rends 
Its fiery arch ; — one lurid stream descends. 
Hark ! from yon beetling cliff, whose summit rude 
Projecting nods above the hanging wood, 
Rent from its solid base, with crashing sound 
Downward it rolls, and ploughs the shelving ground. 
The peasants awe-struck bend with reverent air, 
And pausing leave the half-completed prayer ; 



388 



Then, as the thunder distant rolls away, 

And yellow sun-beams swim through drizzly spray, 

Begin to talk, what woes the rock portends, 

Which from its jutting base the lightning rends : 

Then circles many a legendary tale 

Of Douglas' race, foredoom'd without a male 

To fade, unbless'd, since on the church -yard green 

Its lord o'erthrew the spires of Hazel-dean;* 

For sacred ruins long respect demand, 

And curses light on the destroyer's hand. 

Green Cavers, hallow'd by the Douglas name, 
Tower from thy woods ! assert thy former fame ! 
Hoist the broad standard of thy peerless line, 
Till Percy's Norman banner bow to thine ! 
The hoary oaks, that round thy turrets stand — - 
Hark ! how they boast each mighty planter's hand ! 

* Hazel-dean was the name of an ancient church, on the river 
Teviot, long since defaced by a branch of the family of Douglas ; 
which supposed sacrilege, popular superstition imagined, could be 
expiated only by the extinction of the male line of the family. A 
reverence for places of worship, scarcely consistent with the sim- 
plicity of the Presbyterian forms of religion, prevails in the south of 
Scotland, 



339 

Lords of the border ! where their pennons flew, * 
Mere mortal might could ne'er their arms subdue: 
Their sword, the scythe of ruin, mow'd a host ; 
Nor Death a triumph o'er the line could boast. 

Where rolls o'er Otter's dales the surge of war, f 
One mighty beacon blazes, vast and far. 
The Norman archers round their chieftain flock ; 
The Percy hurries to the spearmen's shock : 
u Raise, minstrels, raise the pealing notes of war ! 
" Shoot, till broad arrows dim each shrinking star 1 
iC Beam o'er our deeds, fair sun, thy golden light ; 
*' Nor be the warrior's glory lost in night !" 
In vain! — his standards sink! — his squadrons yield; — 
His bowmen fly : — a dead man gains the field. 

The song of triumph Teviot's maids prepare. 
Oh, where is he ? the victor Douglas where ? 

* The pennon of Percy, gained in single combat at Newcastle, 
by Douglas, before the battle of Otterburn, is still preserved by 
Douglas of Cavers, the lineal descendant of the chieftain by whom 
the battle was won. 

f The battle of Otterburn was precipitated by the gallant Percy, 
that he might not be counted by Douglas a recreant knight, for the 
breach of his promise to fight him on the third day. For his speech, 
on receiving the message which announced the approach of the army 
of York, see the ancient heroic ballad of the battle of Otterburn. 

z 2 



310 

Beneath the circling fern he bows his head, 
That weaves a wreath of triumph o'er the dead* 

In lines of crystal shine the wandering rijls 
Down the green slopes of Minto's sun-bright hills, 
Whose castled crags in hoary pomp sublime 
Ascend, the ruins of primeval time. 
The peasants, lingering in the Vales below, 
See their white peaks with purple radiance glow, 
When setting sunbeams on the mountains dance, 
Fade, and return to steal a parting glance. 

So, when the hardy chamois-hunters pass 
O'er mounds of crusted snOws and seas of glass, 
Where, far above our living atmosphere, 
The desert rocks their crystal summits rear, 
Bright on their sides the silver sunbeams play, 
Beyond the rise of morn and close of day : 
O'er icy cliffs the hunters oft incline, 
To watch the rays that far through darkness shine, 
And, as they gaze, the fairy radiance deem 
Some Alpine carbuncle's enchanted gleam. 

Mark, in yon vale, a solitary stone, 
Shunn'd by the swain, with loathsome weeds o'ergrown ! 



34,1 

The yellow stone-crop shoots from every pore, 
With scaly, sapless lichens crusted o'er : 
Beneath the base, where starving hemlocks creep, 
The yellow pestilence is buried deep, * 

* Tradition still records, with many circumstances of horror, the 
ravages of the pestilence in Scotland. According to some accounts, 
gold seems to have had a kind of chemical attraction for the matter 
of infection, and it is frequently represented as concentrating its 
virulence in a pot of gold. According to others, it seems to have 
been regarded as a kind of spirit or monster, like the cockatrice, 
which it was deadly to look on, and is sometimes termed " The 
bad yellow." Adomnan, in his life of St. Columba, relates, that 
the Picts and Scots of Britain were the only nations that escaped 
the ravages of the pestilence, which desolated Europe in the seventh 
century. Wyntown relates, that Scotland was first afflicted with 
this formidable epidemic in 1349. 

• In Scotland the first pestilence 
Began of so great violence, 
That it was said, of living men 
The third part it destroyed then ; 
After that, intill Scotland 
A year or more it was wedand; 
Before that time was never seen 
A pestilence in our land so keen. 
Both men, and bairns, and women, 
It spared not for to kill then." 

Wyntown* s Chronicle, vol.ii. p. 271. 

In numerous places of Scotland, the peasants point out large flat 
stones, under which they suppose the pestilence to be buried, and 
which they are anxious not to raise, lest it should emerge, and again 
z 3 






342 

Where first its course, as aged swains have told? 
It stay'd, concentered in a vase of gold. 

Here oft at sunny noon the peasants pause, 
While many a tale their mute attention draws ; 
And, as the younger swains with active feet 
Pace the loose weeds, and the flat tombstone mete, 
What curse shall seize the guilty wretch they tell 
Who drags the monster from his midnight cell, 
And, smit by love of all-alluring gold, 
Presumes to stir the deadly, tainted mold. 



contaminate the atmosphere. The Bass of Inverury, an earthen 1 
mount, about 200 feet high, is said by tradition to have been once 
a castle, which was walled up and covered with earth, because the 
inhabitants were infected with the plague. It stands on the banks 
of the Ury; against which stream it is defended by buttresses, built 
by the inhabitants of Inverury, who were alarmed by a prophecy,, 
ascribed to Thomas the Rhymer, and preserved by tradition. 
" Dee and Don, they shall run on, 
And Tweed shall run, and Tayj 
And the bonny water of Ury 
Shall bear the Bass away."" 

The inhabitants of Inverury sagaciously concluded, that this pre* 
diction could not be accomplished without releasing the imprisoned 
pestilence, and, to guard against this fatal event, they raised ram- 
parts against the encroachments of the stream., 



3iS 



From climes, where noxious exhalations steam 
O'er aguey flats, by Nile's redundant stream, 
It came. — The mildew'd cloud, of yellow hue, 
Drops from its putrid wings the blistering dew. 
The peasants mark the strange discolour'd air, 
And from their homes retreat in wild despair ; 
Each friend they seek, their hapless fate to tell ; -J — 
But hostile lances still their flight repel. 
Ah ! vainly wise, who soon must join the train, 
To seek the help your friend's implor'd in vain ! 
To heaths and swamps the cultur'd field returns ; 
Unheard-of deeds retiring virtue mourns : 
For, mix'd with fell diseases, o'er the clime 
Rain the foul seeds of every baleful crime ; 
Fearless of fate, devoid of future dread, 
Pale wretches rob the dying and the dead : 
The sooty raven, as he flutters by, 
Avoids the heaps where naked corses lie ; 
The prowling wolves, that round the hamlet swarm, 
Tear the young babe from the frail mother's arm ; 
Full gorg'd the monster, in the desert bred, 
Howls long and dreary o'er the unburied dead. 

Two beauteous maids the dire infection shun, * ^ 

Where Dena's valley fronts the southern sun ; 

* This traditional story, which is nearly the same as that on which 
Ramsay's ballad of " Bessie Bell and Mary Gray" is founded, is 

z 4 



s 



su 



While friendship sweet, and love's delightful power,, 
With fern and rushes thatch'd their summer-bower* 
When spring invites the sister-friends to stray, 
One graceful youth, companion of their way, 
Bars their retreat from each obtrusive eye, 
And bids the lonely hours unheeded fly, - 
Leads their light steps beneath the hazel spray, 
Where moss-lin'd boughs exclude the blaze of day, 



common to Various parts of Scotland. The scene of the catastrophe 
of the lovers, celebrated in the popular song, is referred by local 
tradition to a valley in the vicinity of Logie Almond. The Border 
tradition relates, that two young ladies, of great beauty and accom- 
plishments, entertained an extraordinary friendship for each other; 
a friendship so uncommon, indeed, that it continued unimpaired 
even by the unexpected circumstance of finding themselves rivals 
for the affection of a young man, with whom both had lived in 
habits of intimacy. During the ravages of the pestilence, they 
retired to a sequestered glen, where they inhabited a cottage, with- 
out informing any person of the place of their retreat. Their lover, 
whose affection was so equally attracted by the fair rivals, that he 
could form no decision of preference, at last discovered their recess. 
On inquiring concerning their manner of life in this solitary situ- 
ation, he found that, not daring to visit places of public resort, 
they had been under the necessity of subsisting chiefly on snails. ; 
and with surprise he perceived that they looked more beautiful than 
ever. Unwilling, however, that they should subsist on such diet, 
he ventured to visit the nearest town, to procure them provisions. 
There he unfortunately caught the pestilence, which he commu- 
nicated to his fair friends, who fell, with their lover, victims of the 
contagion, 



S45 



And ancient rowans mix their berries red 
With nuts, that cluster brown above their head. 
He, mid the writhing roots of elms, that lean 
O'er oozy rocks of ezlar, shagg'd and green, 
Collects pale cowslips, for the faithful pair, 
And braids the chaplet round their flowing hair, 
And for the lovely maids alternate burns, 
As love and friendship take the sway by turns. 
Ah ! hapless day, that from this blest retreat 
Lur'd to the town his slow, unwilling feet ! 
Yet, soon return'd, he seeks the green recess, 
Wraps the dear rivals in a fond caress ; 
As heaving bosoms own responsive bliss, 
He breathes infection in one melting kiss ; 
Their languid limbs he bears to Dena's strand. 
Chafes each soft temple with his burning hand. 
Their cheeks to his the grateful virgins raise, 
And fondly bless him, as their life decays ; 
W 7 hile o'er their forms he bends with tearful eye, 
And only lives to hear their latest sigh. 
A veil of leaves the redbreast o'er them threw, 
Ere thrice their locks were wet with evening dew. 
There the blue ring-dove coos with ruffling wing, 
And sweeter there the throstle loves to sing ; 
The woodlark breathes in softer strain the vow ; 
And love's soft burthen floats from bough to bough. 



3*6 

But thou, sweet minstrel of the twilight vale ! 
O ! where art thou, melodious nightingale?* 
On their green graves shall still the moonbeams shine, 
And see them mourn'd by every song but thine ? 
That song, whose lapsing tones so sweetly float, 
That love-sick maidens sigh at every note ! 

Oh ! by the purple rose of Persia's plain, 
Whose opening petals greet thine evening strain, 
Whose fragrant odours oft thy song arrest, 
And call the warbler to her glowing breast, — 
Let pity claim thy love-devoted lay, 
And wing, at last, to Dena's vale thy way ! 

Sweet bird ! how long shall Teviot's maids deplore 
Thy song, unheard along her woodland shore ? 
In southern groves thou charm'st the starry night, 
Till darkness seems more lovely far than light ; 
But still, when vernal April wakes the year, 
Nought save the echo of thy song we hear. 



* It is an unlucky circumstance for the Scottish poet, that the 
nightingale has never ventured to visit the north side of the Tweed. 
Douglas and Dunbar, in their descriptive poems, often allude to her 
song j but it is more probable that they adorned their verses with 
the graces of fiction, than that the nightingale at that early period 
was naturalized in Scotland. 



347 



The lover, lingering by some ancient pile, 
When moonlight meads in dewy radiance smile, 
Starts at each woodnote wandering through the dale, 
And fondly hopes he hears the nightingale. 
Oh ! if those tones, of soft enchanting swell, 
Be more than dreams, which fabling poets tell ; 
If e'er thy notes have charm'd away the tear 
From beauty's eye, or mourn' d o'er beauty's bier ; 
Waste not the softness of thy notes in vain, 
But pour in Dena's vale thy sweetest strain I 

Dena ! when sinks at noon the summer breeze, 
And moveless falls the shadework of the trees, 
Bright in the sun thy glossy beeches shine, 
And only Ancram's groves can vie with thine ; * 
Where Ala, bursting from her moorish springs, 
O'er many a cliff her smoking torrent flings, 
And broad, from bank to bank, the shadows fall 
From every Gothic turret's mouldering wall, 
Each ivied spire, and sculpture -fretted court ; 
Where plumy templars held their gay resort, 
Spread their cross-banners in the sun to shine, 
And call'd green Teviot's youth to Palestine. 



* The domain of Ancram belonged to the Knights Templar* 
before the abolition of that order. 



34<S 



Sad is the wail that floats o'er Alemoor/s lake, * 
And nightly bids her gulfs unbottom'd quake, 
While moonbeams, sailing o'er her waters blue, 
Reveal the frequent tinge of blood-red hue. 
The water-birds with shrill discordant scream 
Oft rouse the peasant from his tranquil dream : 
He dreads to raise his slow unclosing eye, 
And thinks he hears an infant's feeble cry. 
The timid mother, clasping to her breast 
Her starting child, by closer arms carest, 
Hushes with soothing voice his murmuring wail, 
And sighs to think of poor Eugenia's tale. 

By alders circled, near the haunted flood, 
A lonely pile, Eugenia's dwelling stood ; 

* The lake, or loch of Alemoor, whence the river Ale, which 
falls into the Teviot beneath Ancrara, originates, is regarded with a 
degree of superstitious horror by the common people. It is rec- 
koned the residence of the water-cow, an imaginary amphibious 
monster, not unlike the Siberian mammoth. A tradition also pre- 
vails, that a child was seized by the erne, a species of eagle, near 
the border of the lake, and dropped into it by the fatigued bird. 
Similar traditions occur in other parts of Scotland. Martin, in his 
Description of the Western Isles, relates, that a native of Sky, called 
Neil, being left when an infant by his mother, in a field not far 
from the houses on the north side of Loch Portrie, was carried over 
the loch by an eagle in its talons to the southern side, where he 
was rescued unhurt by some shepherds, who heard the infant 
cry. — p. 299. ed. 1716. 



349 

Green woodbine wander'd o'er each mossy tower, 
The scented apple spread its painted flower ; 
The flower, that in its lonely sweetness smil'd, 
And seem'd to say, " I grew not always wild !" 
In this retreat, by memory's charm endear'd, 
Her lovely boy the fair Eugenia rear'd, 
Taught young affection every fondling wile, 
And smil'd herself to see her infant smile. 

But, when the lisping prattler learn'd to frame 
His faultering accents to his father's name, 
(That hardy knight, who first from Teviot bore 
The crosier'd shield to Syria's palmy shore,) 
Oft to the lake she led her darling boy 
Mark'd his light footsteps with a mother's joy 
Spring o'er the lawn with quick elastic bound, 
And playful wheel in giddy circles round, 
To view the thin blue pebble smoothly glide 
Along the surface of the dimpling tide : 
How sweet, she thought it still, to hear him cry, 
As some red-spotted daisy met his eye, 
When stooping low, to touch it on the lee, — 
" The pretty flower ! see, how it looks at me !" 

Bright beam'd the setting sun ; the sky was clear* 
And sweet the concert of the woods to hear ; 



350 

The hovering gale was steep'd in soft perfume ; 
The flowery earth seem'd fairer still to bloom ; 
Returning heifers low'd from glade to glade ; 
Nor knew the mother that her boy had stray 'd. 
Quick from a brake, where tangled sloethoms grew, 
The dark-wing'd erne impetuous glanc'd to view ; 
He darting stoop'd, and from the willowy shore 
Above the lake the struggling infant bore ; 
Till, scar'd by clamours that pursued his way, 
Far in the wave he dropp'd his helpless prey. 
Eugenia shrieks, with frenzied sorrow wild, 
Caresses on her breast her lifeless child, 
And fondly hopes, contending with despair, 
That heaven for once may hear a mother's prayer. 
In her torn heart distracting fancies reign, 
And oft she thinks her child revives again ; 
Fond fluttering hope awhile suspends her smart : — 
She hears alone the throb that rends her heart, 
And, clinging to the lips, as cold as snow, 
Pours the wild sob of deep, despairing woe. 

From Ala's banks to fair Melrose's fane, 
How bright the sabre flash'd o'er hills of slain, 
(I see the combat through the mist of years) 
When Scott and Douglas led the Border spears ! . 



351 



The mountain-streams were bridg'd with English dead ; 

Dark An cram's heath was dyed with deeper red ; 

The ravag'd abbey rung the funeral knell, 

When fierce Latoun and savage Evers fell ; * 

Fair bloom'd the laurel-wreath, by Douglas plac'd 

Above the sacred tombs by war defac'd. 

Hail, dauntless chieftain ! thine the mighty boast, 

In scorn of Henry and his southern host, 

To venge each ancient violated bust, 

And consecrate to fame thy father's dust. 

So, when great Amnion's son to Ister's banks f 
Led in proud banner'd pomp his Grecian ranks', 
(Bright blaz'd their faulchions at the monarch's nod, 
And nations trembled at the earthly god) 
Full in his van he saw the Scythian rear 
With fierce insulting shout the forward spear : 
" No fears," he cried, " our stubborn hearts appal, 
" Till heaven's blue starry arch around us fall : 
" These ancient tombs shall bar thy onward way ; 
" This field of graves thy proud career shall stay." 

* The English army, commanded by Evers and Latoun, which 
was defeated on Ancrara-Moor by the Scots, commanded by Douglas 
earl of Angus, and Scott of Buccleugh, had, previously to that event, 
sacked Melrose, and defaced the tombs of Douglas. 

f Vid. Quintus Curtius, Lib. I. Suppl. 



852 

Deserted Melrose ! oft with holy dread * 
I trace thy ruins mouldering o'er the dead ; 
While, as the fragments fall, wild fancy hears 
The solemn steps of old departed years, 
When beam'd young Science in these cells forlorn, 
Beauteous and lonely as the star of morn. 
Where gorgeous panes a rainbow-lustre threw, 
The rank green grass is cobwebb'd o'er with dew ; 
Where pealing organs through the pillar'd fane 
Swell'd clear to heaven devotion's sweetest strain, 
The bird of midnight hoots with dreary tone, 
And sullen echoes through the cloisters moan. 

Farewell, ye moss-clad spires ! ye turrets gray, 
Where Science first effus'd her orient ray ! ] 
Ye mossy sculptures, on the roof emboss'd, 
Like wreathing icicles congeal'd by frost ! 
Each branching window, and each fretted shrine, 
Which peasants still to fairy hands assign ! 
May no rude hand your solemn grandeur mar, 
Nor waste the structure long rever'd by war ! 

* Melrose, in the dark ages, was famous for the literature of its 
monks. The abbey is one of the finest ruins in Scotland. 



353 



From Eildon's cairns no more the watch-fire's blaze, * 
Red as a comet, darts portentous rays ; 
The fields of death, where mailed warriors bled, 
The swain beholds with other armies clad, 
When purple streamers flutter high in air, 
From each pavilion of the rural Fair. 
The rural Fair ! in boy-hood's days serene, 
How sweet to fancy was the novel scene, 
The merry bustle, and the mix'd uproar, 
While every face a jovial aspect wore, 
The listening ear, that heard the murmurs run, 
The eye, that gaz'd, as it would ne'er have done ! 

The crafty pedlars, first, their wares dispose, 
With glittering trinkets in alluring rows ; 
The toy-struck damsel to her fondling swain 
Simpers, looks kind, and then looks coy again ; 
Pleas'd, half-unwilling, he regards the fair, 
And braids the ribbon round her sun-burnt hair. 

Proud o'er the gazing group his form to rear, 
Bawls from his cart the vagrant auctioneer ; 

* Eildon derives its name from the watch-fires, which in the 
turbulent times of antiquity were kindled on its summit. Eldr, in 
Icelandic, signifies fire, and elden, in the Scottish dialect, denotes 
fuel, St. BothwelPs fair is held in its vicinity. 

A A 



354 

While many an oft-repeated tale he tells, 
And jokes, adapted to the ware he sells. 

But when the fife and drum resound aloud, 
Each peopled booth resigns its motley crowd. 
A bunch of roses dangling at his breast, 
The youthful ploughman springs before the rest, 
Throngs to the flag that flutters in the gale, 
And eager listens to the Serjeant's tale, 
Hears feats of strange and glorious peril done, 
In climes illumin'd by the rising sun, 
Feels the proud helmet nodding o'er his brow, 
And soon despises his paternal plough. 
His friends to save the heedless stripling haste ; 
A weeping sister clings around his waist ; 
Fierce hosts unmarshall'd mix with erring blows, 
And saplings stout to glittering swords oppose, 
With boisterous shouts, and hubbub hoarse and rude, 
That faintly picture days of ancient feud. 

Broad Eildon's shivery side like silver shines, 
As in the west the star of day declines : 
While o'er the plains the twilight, vast and dun, 
Stalks on to reach the slow-retiring sun, 
Bright twinkling ringlets o'er the vallies fly, 
Like infant stars that wander from the sky. 



355 



In thin and livid coruscations roll* 
The frosty lightnings of the wintry pole ; 
Lines of pale light the glimmering concave strew, 
Now loosely flaunt with wavering sanguine hue^ 
Now o'er the cope of night, heavy and pale, 
Shoots, like a net, the yellow chequer' d veil ; 
The peasants wondering see the streamers fly, 
And think they hear them hissing through the sky ; 
While he, whom hoary locks and reverend age, 
And wiser saws, proclaim the rural sage, 

* It is a popular opinion among the Scottish peasantry, that the 
northern lights, or aurora borealis, generally termed by them 
streamers, first appeared before the Scottish rebellion in 1715; and 
that they, portend wars more or less sanguinary, in proportion to 
the intensity of their red colour. A poet of the middle ages thus 
expresses the same opinion : 

•' Saepe malum hoc nobis caelestia signa canebant, 
Cum totiens ignitae acies, ceu luce pavendae, 
Per medias noctis dirum fnlsere tenebras, 
Partibus et variis micuerunt igne sinistro — 
Quod monstrum scimus bellum ferale secutum 
Quo se Christicolae ferro petiere nefando, 
Et consanguineus rupit pia fcedera mucro." 

Florus Diaconus Lugdunensis ap. Mabillonii 
Analecta Vetera, vol.i. p. 392. 

Hearne relates, that the northern and southern Indians, tribes of 
the Chippewas, suppose the northern lights to be occasioned by the 
frisking of herds of deer in the fields above, and by the dancing and 
merriment of their deceased friends. 

A A 2 



356 



Prophetic tells that still, when wars are near, 

The skies portentous signs of carnage wear. 

Ere dark Culloden calPd her clans around, 

To spread for death a mighty charnel-ground, 

While yet unpurpled with the dews of fight, 

Their fate was pictur'd on the vault of night. 

So Scotia's swains, as fancy's dreams prevail, 

With looks of mimic wisdom shape the tale. 

But, mid the gloomy plains of Labradore, 

(Save the slow wave that freezes on the shore, 

Where scarce a sound usurps the desert drear, 

Nor wild-wood music ever hails the year,) 

The Indian, cradled in his bed of snow, 

Sees heaven's broad arch with flickering radiance glow, 

And thinks he views along the peopled sky 

The shades of elks and rein-deer glancing by, 

While warriors, parted long, the dance prepare, 

And fierce carousal o'er the conquer'd bear. 

By every thorn along the woodland damp, 
The tiny glow-worm lights her emerald lamp ; 
Like the shot-star, whose yet unquenched light 
Studs with faint gleam the raven vest of night. 
The fairy ring-dance now round Eildon-tree 
Moves to wild strains of elfin minstrelsy ; 



i 



357 



On glancing step appears the fairy queen ; 

The printed grass beneath springs soft and green ; 

While hand in hand she leads the frolic round, 

The dinning tabor shakes the charmed ground ; 

Or, graceful mounted on her palfrey gray, 

In robes that glister like the sun in May, 

With hawk and hound she leads the moonlight ranks 

Of knights and dames to Huntley's ferny banks, 

Where Rymour, long of yore, the nymph embrac'd, * 

The first of men unearthly lips to taste. 

* According to popular tradition, Thomas Rymour, generally 
termed Thomas the Rhymer, derived his prophetical powers from 
his intercourse with the queen of fairy, whose lips he had the 
courage to kiss, when he met her on Huntly banks, with hound and 
hawk, according to the costume of the fairies. By this rash pro- 
ceeding, however, he consigned himself entirely to her power, and 
she conducted him by a very perilous route to fairyland, where she 
instructed him in all the mysteries of learning, past, present, and to 
come; fraught with which, at the end of seven years, he returned 
to Erceldown, and astonished every body with his sagacity. At the 
end of seven years, he again disappeared, and is supposed to have 
returned to fairyland. Tradition further relates, that a shepherd 
was once conducted into the interior recesses of Eildon Hills by 
a venerable personage, whom he discovered to be the famous Ry- 
mour, and who showed him an immense number of steeds in their 
caparisons, and at the bridle of each a knight sleeping, in sable 
armour, with a sword and bugle-horn at his side. These, he was 
told, were the host of king Arthur, waiting till the appointed return 
A A 3 



358 

Rash was the vow, and fatal was the hour, 
Which gave a mortal to a fairy's power ! 
A lingering leave he took of sun and moon ; 
(Dire to the minstrel was the fairy's boon !) 
A sad farewell of grass and green-leav'd tree, 
The haunts of childhood doom'd no more to see. 
Through winding paths that never saw the sun, 
Where Eildon hides his roots in caverns dun, 
They pass, — the hollow pavement, as they go, 
Rocks to remurmuring waves that boil below. 
Silent they wade, where sounding torrents lave 
The banks, and red the tinge of every wave ; 
For all the blood that dyes the warrior's hand 
Runs through the thirsty springs of fairyland. 
Level and green the downward region lies, 
And low the ceiling of the fairy skies ; 
Self-kindled gems a richer light display 
Than gilds the earth, but not a purer day. 
Resplendent crystal forms the palace-wall ; 
The diamond's trembling lustre lights the hall. 



of that monarch from fairyland. For a full account of the tradi- 
tions concerning Thomas Rymour, see Scott's Minstrelsy of the 
Scottish Border, and his Sir Tristrem. 



359 

But where soft emeralds shed an umber'd light, 

Beside each coal-black courser sleeps a knight ; 

A raven plume waves o'er each helmed crest, 

And black the mail which binds each manly breast, 

Girt with broad faulchion, and with bugle green — 

Ah ! could a mortal trust the fairy queen ? 

From mortal lips an earthly accent fell, 

And Rymour's tongue confess'd the numbing spell: 

In iron sleep the minstrel lies forlorn, 

Who breath'd a sound before he blew the horn. 

So Vathek once, as eastern legends tell*, 
Sought the vast dome of subterranean hell, 
Where, ghastly in their cedar-biers enshrin'd, 
The fleshless forms of ancient kings reclin'd, 
Who, long before primeval Adam rose, 
Had heard the central gates behind them close. 



* The beautiful and romantic history of the caliph Vathek, though 
it occasionally betray the vestiges of European embellishment, is, in 
the ground-work, of oriental origin ; and is understood to have been 
founded on certain MSS. formerly in the collection of Edward 
Wortley Montague. The cast of the story in itself, the manners 
and allusions which pervade it, and the appropriate sublimity of the 
close, independent of the evidence in the notes, which might have 
been greatly augmented, indicate plainly that it is not a fiction of 
the west 

A A 4 



360 



With jarring clang the hebon portals ope, 

And closing toll the funeral knell of hope. 

A sable tap'stry lin'd the marble wall, 

And spirits curs'd stalk'd dimly through the hall : 

There, as he view'd each right hand ceaseless prest 

With writhing anguish to each blasted breast, 

Blue o'er his brow convulsive fibres start, 

And flames of vengeance eddy round his heart ; 

With a dire shriek he joins the restless throng, 

And vaulted hell return'd his funeral-song. 

Mysterious Rymour ! doomed by fate's decree 
Still to revisit Eildon's lonely tree, 
Where oft the swain at dawn of Hallow-day 
Hears thy black barb with fierce impatience neigh [ 
Say, who is he, with summons strong and high, 
That bids the charmed sleep of ages fly, 
Rolls the long sound through Eildon's caverns vast, 
While each dark warrior rouses at the blast, 
His horn, his faulchion grasps with mighty hand, 
And peals proud Arthur's march from fairyland? 
Where every coal-black courser paws the green. 
His printed step shall evermore be seen : 
The silver shields in moony splendour shine : — 
Beware, fond youth ! a mightier hand than thine* 



361 



With deathless lustre in romantic lay 

Shall Rymour's fate, and Arthur's fame display. 

Scott ! with whom, in youth's serenest prime, 

1 wove with careless hand the fairy rhyme, 
Bade chivalry's barbaric pomp return, 

And heroes wake from every mouldering urn ! 

Thy powerful verse, to grace the courtly hall, 

Shall many a tale of elder time recall, 

The deeds of knights, the loves of dames proclaim, 

And give forgotten bards their former fame. 

Enough for me, if fancy wake the shell, 

To eastern minstrels strains like thine to tell , 

Till saddening memory all our haunts restore, 

The wild-wood walks by Esk's romantic shore, 

The circled hearth, which ne'er was wont to fail 

In cheerful joke, or legendary tale, 

Thy mind, whose fearless frankness nought could move, 

Thy friendship, like an elder brother's love* 

While from each scene of early life I part, 

True to the beatings of this ardent heart, 

When, half-deceas'd, with half the world between, 

My name shall be unmention'd on the green, 

When years combine with distance, let me be, 

By all forgot, remember'd yet by thee ! 



SCENES OF INFANCY. 



PART III. 



Heureux qui dans le sein de ses dieux domestiques 
Se derobe au fracas des tempetes publiques, 
Et y dans un doux abri, trompant tous les regards, 
Cultive sesjardins, les vertus et les arts! 

DELUXE. 



365 



SCENES OF INFANCY. 



PART III. 



Blest are the sons of life's sequester'd vale : 
No storms of fate their humble heads assail. 
Smooth as the riv'let glides along the plain, 
To lose its noiseless waters in the main, 
Unheard, unnoted, moves the tranquil stream 
Of rural life, that haunts each waking dream ; 
When fond regret for all I leave behind, 
With sighs unbidden, lingers o'er my mind. 

Again, with youth's sensations wild, I hear 
The sabbath-chimes roll sweetly on mine ear, 
And view with solemn gait and serious eye 
Long moving lines of peasants churchward hie. 
The rough-ton'd bell, which many a year hath seen, 
And drizzling mists have long since crusted green, 



366 



Wide o'er the village flings its muffled sound : 
With quicken'd pace they throng the burial ground; 
As each selects his old paternal seat, 
Bright flash the sparkles round their iron feet. 
From crowded pews, arrang'd in equal row, 
The dirge-like music rises soft and slow ; 
Uncultur'd strains ! which yet the warmth impart 
Of true devotion to the peasant's heart. 

I mark the preacher's air, serene and mild : 
In every face he sees a listening child, 
Unfolds with reverend air the sacred book, 
Around him casts a kind paternal look, 
And hopes, when all his mortal toils are past, 
This filial family to join at last. 
He paints the modest virtues of the swains, 
Content and happy on their native plains, 
Uncharm'd by pomp, by gold's refulgent glare, 
, Or fame's shrill clarion pealing through the air, 
That bids the hind a heart untainted yield 
For laurels, crimson'd in the gory field. 
" Beyond this life, and life's dark barrier-stream, 
" How bright the rays of light celestial gleam, 
u Green fields of bliss, and heavens of cloudless blue, 
" While Eden spreads her flowery groves anew ! 



367 

" Farewell the sickening sigh, that virtue owes 

" To mortal life's immedicable woes, 

" Sweet pity's tear, that loves to fall unseen, 

" Like dews of eve on meads of tender green ! 

" The trees of life, that on the margin rise 

" Of Eden's stream, shall calm the sufferer's sighs, 

" From the dark brow the wrinkle charm away, 

" And soothe the heart whose pulses madly play ; 

" Till, pure from passion, free from earthly stain, 

" One pleasing memory of the past remain, 

" Full tides of bliss in ceaseless circles roll, 

u And boundless rapture renovate the soul." 

When mortals, vainly wise, renounce their God, 
To vaunt their kindred to the crumbling clod, 
Bid o'er their graves the blasted hemlock bloom, 
And woo the eternal slumber of the tomb, 
The long, long night, unsooth'd by fancy's dream ; — 
Unheard the vultures, o'er their bones that scream T - 
Though mimic pity half conceals their fear, 
Aw'd, to the good man's voice they lend an ear. 
But, as the father speaks, they wondering find 
New doubts, new fears, infest the obdurate mind ; 
Wild scenes of woe with ghastly light illume 
The sullen regions of the desert tomb ; 



368 



His potent words the mental film dispart, 

Pierce the dark crust that wraps the atheist's heart, 

And stamp in characters of livid fire 

The fearful doom of heaven's avenging ire. 

But, when he saw each cherish'd bosom-sin, 

Like nestling serpents, gnaw the breast within, 

To sooth the soften'd soul his doctrine fell, 

Like April-drops that nurse the primrose-bell, 

Whose timid beauty first adorns the mead, 

When spring's warm showers to winter's blights succeed. 

As home the peasants move with serious air, 
For sober talk they mingle, pair and pair ; 
Though quaint remark unbend the stedfast mien, 
And thoughts less holy sometimes intervene, 
No burst of noisy mirth disturbs their walk ; 
Each seems afraid of worldly things to talk, 
Save yon fond pair, who speak with meeting eyes ; — 
The sacred day profaner speech denies. 

Some love to trace the plain of graves, alone, 
Peruse the lines that crowd the sculptur'd stone, 
And, as their bosoms heave at thoughts of fame, 
Wish that such homely verse may save their name, 
Hope that their comrades, as the words they spell, 
To greener youth their ploughman-skill may tell, 



369 



And add, that none sung clearer at the ale, 
Or told at winter's eve a merrier tale, 
When drowsy shepherds round the embers gaze 
At tiny forms that tread the mounting blaze, 
And songs and jokes the laughing hours beguile, 
And borrow sweetness from the damsels' smile. 
Vain wish ! the letter'd stones, that mark his grave, 
Can ne'er the swain from dim oblivion save : 
Ere thrice yon sun his annual course has roll'd, 
Is he forgotten, and the tales he told. 
At fame so transient, peasants, murmur not ! 
In one great book your deeds are not forgot : 
Your names, your blameless lives, impartial fate 
Records, to triumph o'er the guilty great, 
When each unquiet grave upheaves the dead, 
And awful blood-drops stain the laurell'd head* 

See, how each barbarous trophy wastes away ! 
All, save great Egypt's pyramids, decay. 
Green waves the harvest, and the peasant-boy 
Stalls his rough herds within the towers of Troy ; 
Prowls the sly fox, the jackall rears her brood, 
Where once the towers of mighty Ilium stood. 
And you, stern children of the northern sun, 
Each stubborn Tartar, and each swarthy Hun, 

B B 



370 

Toumen, and Mothe, who led your proud Mongul* 
And pil'd in mountain-heaps your ibemen's skulls ! 
Broad swarm'd your bands o'er every peopled clime, 
And trode the nations from the rolls of time. 
Where is your old renown ? — - On Sibir's plain, 
Nameless and vast, your tombs alone remain. 
How soon. the fame of Niger's lord decay'd, 
Whose arm Tombuto's golden sceptre sway'd ! 
Dark Izkia ! name, by dusky hosts rever'd, f 
Who first the pile of negro-glory rear'd ! 
O'er many a realm beneath the burning zone 
How bright his ruby-studded standard shone ! 
How strong that arm the glittering spear to wield, 
While sable nations gatber'd round his shield ! 
But chief when, conquest-crowTi'd, his radiant car 
From Niger's banks repuls'd the surge of war, 

* Toumen and Mothe, however unknown to Europeans, are 
heroes of great celebrity in Mongul history, and in no respects 
inferior to Attila, Jenghiz, or Timur. Many of the most illustrious 
chieftains of these manslaughtering tribes have experienced a similar 
fate. 

f Muley Izkia, a native negro, and king of Tombuctoo, in the 
early part of the 16th century, gained by conquest an immense 
empire in the interior of Africa. He defeated the forces of Morocco 
in a great engagement, in which Marmol was present; and so com- 
plete was the rout, that the emperor himself escaped with difficulty. 



371 



When rose convuls'd in clouds the desert gray, 

And Arab lances gleam'd in long array ! 

At every shout a grove of spears was flung, 

From cany bows a million arrows sprung ; 

While, prone and panting, on the sandy plain 

Sunk the fleet barb, and welter'd mid the slain. 

Niger, exulting o'er her sands of gold, 

Down her broad wave the Moorish warriors rolPd ; 

While each dark tribe, along her sylvan shore, 

Gaz'd on the bloody tide, and arms unseen before. — 

Unknown the grave where Izkia's ashes lie : — 

Thy fame has fled, like lightning o'er the sky. 

E'en he, who first, with garments rolPd in blood, 

Rear'd the huge piles by Nile's broad moon-horn'd flood, 

Swore that his fame the lapse of time should mock, 

Grav'd on the granite's everlasting rock, 

Sleeps in his catacomb, unnam'd, unknown; — 

While sages vainly scan the sculptur'd stone. 

So fades the palm by blighting blood-drops stain'd, 
The laurel-wreath by ruffian war profan'd ; 
So fades his name, whom first the nations saw 
Ordain a mortal's blind caprice for law, 
The fainting captive drag to slavery's den. 
And truck for gold the souls of free-born men. 

BBS 



But hope not, tyrants ! in the grave to rest, 
(The blood, the tears of nations unredress'd,) 
While sprites celestial mortal woes bemoan, 
And join the vast creation's funeral groan ! 
For still, to heaven when fainting nature calls, 
On deeds accurs'd the darker vengeance falls. 

Nor deem the negro's sighs and anguish vain, 
Who hopeless grinds the harden'd trader's chain ; 
As, wafted from his country far away, 
He sees Angola's hills of green decay. 
The dry harmattan flits along the flood, 
To parch his veins, and boil his throbbing blood- 
In dreams he sees Angola's plains appear ; 
In dreams he seems Angola's strains to hear ; 
And when the clanking fetter bursts his sleep, 
Silent and sad he plunges in the deep. 

Stout was the ship, from Benin's palmy shore * 
That first the freight of barter'd captives bore : 

* It is a common superstition of mariners, that, in the high 
southern latitudes on the coast of Africa, hurricanes are frequently 
ushered in by the appearance of a spectre-ship, denominated the 
Flying Dutchman. At dead of night, the luminous form of a ship 
glides rapidly, with topsails flying, and sailing straight in " the wind's 
eye " The crew of this vessel are supposed to have been guilty 



373 



Bedimm'd with blood, the sun with shrinking beams 
Beheld her bounding o'er the ocean-streams ; 
But, ere the moon her silver horns had rear'd, 
Amid the crew the speckled plague appear'd. 
Faint and despairing on their watery bier. 
To every friendly shore the sailors steer ; 
RepelPd from port to port they sue in vain, 
And track with slow unsteady sail the main. 
Where ne'er the bright and buoyant wave is seen 
To streak with wandering foam the sea-weeds green, 
Towers the tall mast, a lone and leafless tree ; 
Till, self-impelFd, amid the waveless sea, 
Where summer breezes ne'er were heard to sing, 
Nor hovering snow-birds spread the downy wing, 
Fix'd as a rock, amid the boundless plain, 
The yellow steam pollutes the stagnant main ; 



of some dreadful crime in the infancy of navigation, and to have 
been stricken with the pestilence. They were hence refused 
admittance into every port, and are ordained still to traverse the 
ocean on which they perished, till the period of their penance 
expire. Chaucer alludes to a punishment of a similar kind. 

" And breakers of the laws, sooth to sain, 

And lecherous folk, after that they been dead, 
Shall whirl about the world alway in pain, 
Till many a world be passed out of dread." 

Chaucer's Assembly of Fowls* 
Bl 3 



37L< 

Till far through night the funeral flames aspire, 
As the red lightning smites the ghastly pyre. 

Still doom'd by fate, on weltering billows roll'd, 
Along the deep their restless course to hold, 
Scenting the storm, the shadowy sailors guide 
The prow, with sails oppos'd to wind and tide. 
The spectre-ship, in livid glimpsing light, 
Glares baleful on the shuddering watch at night, 
Unblest of God and man I — Till time shall end* 
Its view strange horror to the storm shall lend. 

Land of my fathers ! — though no mangrove here 
O'er thy blue streams her flexile branches rear, 
Nor scaly palm her finger'd scions shoot, 
Nor luscious guava wave her yellow fruit, 
Nor golden apples glimmer from the tree — 
Land of dark heaths and mountains ! thou art free. 

Untainted yet, thy stream, fair Teviot ! runs, 
With unatoned blood of Gambia's sons : 
No drooping slave, with spirit bow'd to toil, 
Grows, like the weed, self-rooted to the soil, 
Nor cringing vassal on these pansied meads 
Is bought and barter'd, as the flock he feeds. 



375 

Free, as the lark that carols o'er his head, 
At dawn the healthy ploughman leaves his bed, 
Binds to the yoke his sturdy steers with care, 
And whistling loud directs the mining share ; 
Free, as his lord, the peasant treads the plain, 
And heaps his harvest on the groaning wain ; 
Proud of his laws, tenacious of his right, 
And vain of Scotia's old unconquer'd might. 

Dear native vallies ! may ye long retain 
The charter'd freedom of the mountain swain ! 
Long mid your sounding glades in union sweet 
May rural innocence and beauty meet ! 
And still be duly heard at twilight calm 
From every cot the peasant's chaunted psalm ! 
Then, Jedworth ! though thy ancient choirs shall fade, 
And time lay bare each lofty colonnade, 
From the damp roof the massy sculptures die, 
And in their vaults thy rifted arches lie, 
Still in these vales shall angel harps prolong 
By Jed's pure stream a sweeter even- song, 
Than long processions once with mystic zeal 
Pour'd to the harp and solemn organ 's peal. 

O softly, Jed ! thy sylvan current lead 
Round every hazel copse and smiling mead, 
b B 4 



376 

Where lines of firs the glowing landscape screen, 

And crown the heights with tufts of deeper green. 

While, mid the cliffs, to crop the flowery thyme, 

The shaggy goats with steady footsteps climb, 

How wantonly the ruffling breezes stir 

The wavering trains of tinsel gossamer, 

In filmy threads of floating gold, which slide 

O'er the green upland's wet and sloping side, 

While, ever varying in the beating ray, 

The fleeting net-work glistens bright and gay ! 

To thee, fair Jed ! a holier wreath is due, 

Who gav'st thy Thomson all thy scenes to view *, 

Bad' st forms of beauty on his vision roll, 

And mould to harmony his ductile soul ; 

Till fancy's pictures rose as nature bright, 

And his warm basom glow'd with heavenly light* 

In March, when first, elate on tender wing, 
O'er frozen heaths the lark essays to sing ; 
In March, when first, before the lengthening days, 
The snowy mantle of the earth decays, 

* The youth of Thomson was spent on the Jed, and many of his 
descriptions are supposed to be copied from the scenery on its banks,. 
The description, in the beginning of his Winter, of the storm collect- 
ing on the mountain cliffs, is said to have been suggested by the 
appearance of Ruberslaw. 



377 

The wreaths of crusted snows are painted blue, 
And yellowy moss assumes a greener hue, — 
How smil'd the bard, from winter's funeral urn 
To see more fair the youthful earth return I 

When morn's wan rays with clearer crimson blend, 
And first the gilded mists of spring ascend, 
The sun-beams swim through April's silver showers, 
The daffodils expand their yellow flowers, 
The lusty stalk with sap luxuriant swells, 
And, curling round it, smile the bursting bells, 
The blowing king-cup bank and valley studs, 
And on the rosiers nod the folded buds ; — 
Warm beats his heart, to view the mead's array, 
When flowers of summer hear the steps of May. 

But, when the wintry blast the forest heaves, 
And shakes the harvest of the ripen'd leaves ; 
When brighter scenes the painted woods display 
Than fancy's fairy pencil can pourtray, 
He pensive strays the sadden'd groves among, 
To hear the twittering swallow's farewell-song. 
The finch no more on pointed thistles feeds, 
Pecks the red leaves, or crops the swelling seeds ; 
But water-crows by cold brook-margins play, 
Lave their dark plumage in the freezing spray, 



378 



And, wanton as from stone to stone they glide, 
Dive at their beckoning forms beneath the tide. 
He hears at eve the fetter'd bittern's scream, 
Ice-bound in sedgy marsh, or mountain stream, 
Or sees, with strange delight, the snow-clouds form 
When Ruberslaw conceives the mountain storm ; 
Dark Ruberslaw, — that lifts his head sublime, 
Rugged and hoary with the wrecks of time ! 
On his broad misty front the giant wears 
The horrid furrows of ten thousand years ; 
His aged brows ane crown'd with curling fern, 
Where perches, grave and lone, the hooded Erne, 
Majestic bird ! by ancient shepherds styl'd 
The lonely hermit of the russet wild, 
That loves amid the stormy blast to soar, 
When through disjointed cliffs the tempests roar, 
Climbs on strong wing the storm, and, screaming high, 
Rides the dim rack that sweeps the darken'd sky. 

Such were the scenes his fancy first refin'd, 
And breath'd enchantment o'er his plastic mind, 
Bade every feeling flow to virtue dear, 
And form'd the poet of the varied year. 

Bard of the Seasons ! could my strain, like thine, 
Awake the heart to sympathy divine, 



I 



379 



Sweet Osna's stream, by thin-leav'd birch o'erhung, * 

No more should roll her modest waves unsung. — 

Though now thy silent waters, as they run, 

Refuse to sparkle in the morning sun, 

Though dark their wandering course, what voice can tell 

Who first for thee shall strike the sounding shell, 

And teach thy waves, that dimly wind along, 

To tune to harmony their mountain-song ! 

Thus Meles roll'd a stream unknown to fame, 

Not yet renown'd by Homer's mighty name ; 

Great sun of verse, who self-created shone, 

To lend the world his light* and borrow none ! 

Through richer fields, her milky wave that stain, 
Slow Cala flows o'er many a chalky plain ; 
With silvery spikes of wheat, in stately row, 
And golden oats, that on the uplands grow, 
Gray fields of barley crowd the water edge, 
Drink the pale stream, and mingle with the sedge. 

Pure blows the summer breeze o'er moor and dell, 
Since first in Wormiswood the serpent fell : f 

* Osna, the retired and romantic stream of Oxnam, which falls- 
into the Teviot at Crailing, the ancient seat of the Cranstons. 

f For this tradition concerning an immense serpent, generally 
termed the wod-worm of Wormiston, and supposed to have been 



380 

From years in distance lost his birth he drew, 
And with the ancient oaks the monster grew, 
Till venom, nurs'd in every stagnant vein, 
Shed o'er his scaly sides a yellow stain, 
Save where uprear'd his purfled crest was seen, 
Bedropt with purple blots and streaks of green. 
Deep in a sedgy fen, conceal'd from day, 
Long ripening, on his oozy bed he lay ; 
Till, as the poison-breath around him blew, 
From every bough the shrivell'd leaflet flew, 
Gray moss began the wrinkled trees to climb, 
And the tall oaks grew old before their time. 

On his dark bed the grovelling monster long 
Blew the shrill hiss, and launch'd the serpent prong, 
Or, writh'd on frightful coils, with powerful breath 
Drew the faint herds to glut the den of death, 
Dragg'd with unwilling speed across the plain 
The snorting steed, that gaz'd with stifFen'd mane, 
The forest bull, that lash'd with hideous roar 
His sides indignant, and the ground uptore. 



killed by the laird of Lariston, there appears to have been some 
foundation, though the magnitude of the serpent, and the ha2ard 
of the enterprise, are greatly augmented. See Scott's Minstrelsy. 






381 



Bold as the chief who, mid black Lerna's brake, 

With mighty prowess quell'd the water- snake, 

To rouse the monster from his noisome den, 

A dauntless hero pierc'd the blasted fen. 

He mounts, he spurs his steed; in bold career, 

His arm gigantic wields a fiery spear ; 

With aromatic moss the shaft was wreath' d, 

And favouring gales around the champion breath'd ; 

By power invisible the courser drawn, 

Now quick, and quicker, bounds across the lawn ; 

Onward he moves, unable now to pause, 

And fearless meditates the monster's jaws, 

Impels the struggling steed, that strives to shun, 

Full on his wide unfolding fangs to run ; 

Down his black throat he thrusts the fiery dart, 

And hears the frightful hiss that rends his heart ; 

Then, wheeling light, reverts his swift career. 

The writhing serpent grinds the ashen spear ; 

RolPd on his head, his awful volum'd train 

He strains in tortur'd folds, and bursts in twain. 

On Cala's banks, his monstrous fangs appal 

The rustics pondering on the sacred wall, 

Who hear the tale the solemn rites between, 

On summer sabbaths in the churchyard green. 



382 



On Y eta's banks the vagrant gypsies place 
Their turf-built cots ; a sun-burn'd swarthy race ! 
From Nubian realms their tawny line they bring, 
And their brown chieftain vaunts the name of king. 
With loitering steps from town to town they pass, 
Their lazy dames rock'd on the panier'd ass. 
From pilfer'd roots or nauseous carrion fed, 
By hedge-rows green they strew the leafy bed, 
While scarce the cloak of taudry red conceals 
The fine-turn'd limbs, which every breeze reveals : 
Their bright black eyes through silken lashes shine, 
Around their necks their raven tresses twine ; 
But chilling damps and dews of night impair 
Its soft sleek gloss, and tan the bosom bare. 
Adroit the lines of palmistry to trace, 
Or read the damsel's wishes in her face, 
Her hoarded silver-store they charm away, 
A pleasing debt, for promis'd wealth to pay. 

But in the lonely barn, from towns remote, 
The pipe and bladder opes its screaking throat, 
To aid the revels of the noisy rout, 
Who wanton dance, or push the cups about : 
Then for their paramours the maddening brawl, 
Shrill, fierce, and frantic, echoes round the hall. 



;3S3 



No glimmering light to rage supplies a mark, 

Save the red firebrand, hissing through the dark ; 

And oil the beams of morn, the peasants say, 

The blood- stain'd turf, and new-form'd graves display. 

Fell race, unworthy of the Scotian name ! 

Your brutal deeds your barbarous line proclaim ; 

With dreadful GahVs link'd in kindred bands, 

The locust brood of Ethiopia's sands, 

Whose frantic shouts the thunder blue defy, 

And launch their arrows at the glowing sky. 

In barbarous pomp, they glut the inhuman feast 

With dismal viands man abhors to taste ; 

And grimly smile, when red the goblets shine, *j 

When mantles red the shell — but not with wine. 

Ye sister-streams, whose mountain waters glide 
To lose your names in Teviot's crystal tide, 
Not long through greener fields ye wander slow, 
While heavens of azure widen as ye grow ! 
For soon, where scenes of sweeter beauty smile 
Around the mounds of Roxburgh's ruin'd pile, 
No more the mistress of each lovely field, 
Her name, her honours Teviot soon must yield. 

Roxburgh ! how fallen, since first in Gothic pride 
Thy frowning battlements the war defied, 



384 



Call'd the bold chief to grace thy blazon'd halls, 

And bade the rivers gird thy solid walls ! 

Fallen are thy towers, and, where the palace stood, 

In gloomy grandeur waves yon hanging wood; 

Crush'd are thy halls, save where the peasant sees 

One moss-clad ruin rise between the trees ; 

The still-green trees, whose mournful branches wave 

In solemn cadence o'er the hapless brave. 

Proud castle ! Fancy still beholds thee stand, 

The curb, the guardian of this Border land, 

As when the signal-flame, that blaz'd afar, 

And bloody flag, proclaim'd impending war, 

While in the lion's place the leopard frown'd, 

And marshall'd armies hemm'd thy bulwarks round. 

Serene in might, amid embattled files, 
From Morven's hills, and the far Western Isles, 
From barrier Tweed, and Teviot's Border tide, 
See through the host the youthful monarch ride ! 
In streaming pomp, above each mailed line, 
The chiefs behold his plumy helmet shine, 
And, as he points the purple surge of war, 
His faithful legions hail their guiding star. 

From Lothian's plains, a hardy band uprears 
In serried ranks a glittering grove of spears : 



385 

The Border chivalry more fierce advance ; 
Before their steeds projects the bristling lance; 
The panting steeds that, bridled in with pain, 
Arch their proud crests, and ardent paw the plain : 
With broad claymore and dirk the Island clan 
Clang the resounding targe, and claim the van, 
Flash their bright swords as stormy bugles blow, 
Unconscious of the shaft and Saxon bow. 

Now sulphurous clouds involve the sickening morn, 
And the hoarse bombal drowns the pealing horn % ; 
Crash the disparted walls, the turrets rock, 
And the red flame bursts through the smouldering 

smoke.. 
But, hark ! with female shrieks the vallies ring ! 
The death-dirge sounds for Scotia's warrior-king : 
Fallen in his youth, ere on the listed field 
The tinge of blood had dyed his silver shield ; 
Fallen in his youth, ere from the banner'd plain 
Return'd his faulchion, crimson'd with the slain. 
His sword is sheath'd, his bow remains unstrung, 
His shield unblazon'd, and his praise unsung : 

* Bombal is used by Cleveland : 

" In pulpit fireworks which tfce bombal vents." 

Cleveland's Poems, p. 39. 
c c 



386 

The holly's glossy leaves alone shall tell, 
How on these banks the martial monarch feJL 

Lo ! as to grief the drooping squadrons yield, 
And quit with tarnish'd arms the, luckless field, 
His gallant consort wipes her tears away, 
Renews their courage, and restores the day. 
" Behold your king !" the lofty heroine cried, 
" He seeks his vengeance where his father died. 
" Behold your king !" — Rekindling fury boils 
In every breast ; — the Saxon host recoils : — 
Wide o'er the walls the billowy flames aspire, 
And streams of blood hiss through the curling fire. 

Teviot, farewell ! for now thy silver tide 
Commix'd with Tweed's ,pellucid stream shall glide. 
But all thy green and pastoral beauties fail 
To match the softness of thy parting vale. 
Bosom'd in woods where mighty rivers run, 
Kelso's fair vale expands before the sun : 
Its rising downs in vernal beauty swell, 
And fring'd with hazel winds each flowery dell : 
Green spangled plains to dimpling lawns succeed, 
And Tempe rises on the banks of Tweed. 
Blue o'er the river Kelso's shadow lies, 
And copse-clad isles amid the waters rise ; 



387 



Where Tweed her silent way majestic holds, 
Float the thin gales in more transparent folds. 
New powers of vision on the eye descend, 
As distant mountains from their bases bend, 
Lean forward from their seats to court the view, 
While melt their soften'd tints in vivid blue. 
But fairer still, at midnight's shadowy reign, 
When liquid silver floods the moonlight plain, 
And lawns, and fields, and woods of varying hue 
Drink the wan lustre, and the pearly dew ; 
While the still landscape, more than noontide bright, 
Glistens with mellow tints of fairy light. 

Yet, sure, these pastoral beauties ne'er can vie 
With those, which fondly rise to Memory's eye, 
When, absent long, my soul delights to dwell 
On scenes in early youth she lov'd so well. 
"Tis fabling Fancy, with her radiant hues, 
That gilds the modest scenes which Memory views ; 
And softer, finer tints she loves to spread, 
For which we search in vain the daisied mead, 
In vain the grove, the riv'let's mossy cell — 
*Hs the delusive charm of Fancy's spell. 



c c 2 



SCENES OF INFANCY. 

PART IV. 



Mervcilleuses histoires raconties autour du foyer, lendres epan- 
chemens du caeur, longues habitudes d'aimer si necessaires a la vie, 
■wous avez rempli les journees de ceux qui n'ont point quitte leur pays 
natal. Leurs tombeaux sont dans leur patrie, avec le soleil couchant, 
les pleurs de leurs amis et Us charmes de la religion. 

Atala. 



C C 3 



391 



SCENES OF INFANCY. 



PART IV. 



Once more, inconstant shadow ! by my side 
I see thee stalk with vast gigantic stride, 
Pause when I stop, and where I careless bend 
My steps, obsequiously their course attend : 
So faithless friends, that leave the wretch to mourn, 
Still with the sunshine of his days return. 
Yet oft, since first I left these vallies green, 
I, but for thee, companionless had been. 
To thee I talk'd, nor felt myself alone, 
While summer-suns and living moon-beams shone. 
Oft, while an infant, playful in the sun, 
I hop'd thy silent gambols to outrun, 
And, as I view'd thee ever at my side, 
To overleap thy hastening figure tried. 
cc4 



S92 

Oft, when with flaky snow the fields were white, 

Beneath the moon I started at thy sight, 

Eyed thy l*uge stature with suspicious mien, 

And thought I had my evil genius seen. 

But when I left my father's old abode, 

And thou the sole companion of my road, 

As sad I paus'd, and fondly look'd behind, 

And almost deem'd each face I met unkind, 

While kindling hopes to boding fears gave place, 

Thou seem'dst the ancient spirit of my race. 

In startled Fancy's ear I heard thee say, 

" Ha ! I will meet thee after many a day, 

" When youth's impatient joys, too fierce to last, 

" And fancy's wild illusions, all are past ; 

« Yes ! I will come, when seenes of youth depart, 

" To ask thee for thy innocence of heart, 

" To ask thee, when thou bidst this light adieu, 

'• Ha ! wilt thou blush thy ancestors to view ?" 

Now, as the sun descends with westering beam, 
I see thee lean across clear Teviot's stream : 
Through thy dim figure, fring'd with wavy gold, 
Their gliding course the restless waters hold ; 
But, when a thousand waves have roll'd away. 
The incumbent shadow suffers no decay. 



39S 

Thus, wide through mortal life delusion reigns ; 
The substance changes, but the form remains : * 
Or, if the substance still remains the same, 
We see another form, and hear another name. 

So, when I left sweet Teviot's woodland green, 
And hills, the only hills mine eyes had seen, 
With what delight I hop'd to mark anew 
Each well-known object rising on my view ! 
Ah fruitless hope ! when youth's warm light is o'er, 
Can ought to come its glowing hues restore ? 
As lovers, absent long, with anguish trace 
The marks of time on that familiar face, 
Whose bright and ripening bloom could once impart 
Such melting fondness to the youthful heart, 
J sadly stray by Teviot's pastoral shore, 
And every change with fond regret deplore. 
No more the black-cock struts along the heath, 
Where berries cluster blue the leaves beneath, 



* According to the later Platonics, the material world is in a 
continual state of flowing and formation, but never possesses real 
being. It is like the image of a tree seen in a rapid stream, which 
has the appearance of a tree, without the reality, and which seemt 
to continue perpetually the same, though constantly renewed by the 
renovation of its waters. There is an allusion to this idea in the 
hymn to Nature, attributed to Orpheus. 



394 



Spreads the jet wing, or flaunts the dark-green train, 
In laboured flight the tufted moors to gain, 
But, far remote, on flagging plume he flies, 
Or shuts in death his ruddy sparkling eyes. 
No more the screaming bittern, bellowing harsh, 
To its dark bottom shakes the shuddering marsh ; 
Proud of his shining breast and emerald crown, 
The wild-drake leaves his bed of eider-down, 
Stretches his helming neck before the gales, 
And sails on winnowing wing for other vales. 

Where the long heaths in billowy roughness frown, 
The pine, the heron's ancient home, goes down, 
Though wintry storms have toss'd its spiry head, 
Since first o'er Scotia's realm the forests spread. 

The mountain-ash, whose crimson berries shine ; 
The flaxen birch, that yields the palmy wine ; 
The guine, whose luscious sable cherries spring, 
To lure the blackbird mid her boughs to sing; 
The shining beech, that holier reverence claims, 
Along whose bark our fathers carv'd their names ; 
Yield to the ponderous axe, whose frequent stroke 
Re-echoes loudly from the ezlar rock, 
While frighted stock-doves listen, silent long, 
Then from the hawthorn crowd their gurgling so»g. 



395 



Green downs ascending drink the moorish rills, 
And yellow corn-fields crown the heathless hills, 
Where to the breeze the shrill brown linnet sings, 
And prunes with frequent bill his russet wings. 
High and more high the shepherds drive their flocks, 
And climb with timid step the hoary rocks ; 
From cliff to cliff the ruffling breezes sigh, 
Where idly on the sun-beat steeps they lie, 
And wonder, that the vale no more displays 
The pastoral scenes that pleas'd their early days. 

No more the cottage roof, fern -thatch'd and gray, 
Invites the weary traveller from the way, 
To rest, and taste the peasant's simple cheer, 
Repaid by news and tales he lov'd to hear ; 
The clay-built wall, with woodbine twisted o'er, 
The house-leek, clustering green above the door, 
While through the sheltering elms, that round them 

grew, 
The winding smoke arose in columns blue ; — 
These all have fled ; and from their hamlets brown 
The swains have gone, to sicken in the town, 
To pine in crowded streets, or ply the loom; 
For splendid halls deny the cottage room. 
Yet on the neighbouring heights they oft convene, 
With fond regret to view each former scene, 



396 

The level meads, where infants wont to play 
Around their mothers, as they pil'd the hay, 
The hawthorn hedge-row, and the hanging wood, 
Beneath whose boughs their humble cottage stood, 

Gone are the peasants from the humble shed, 
And with them too the humble virtues fled. 
No more the farmer, on these fertile plains, 
Is held the father of the meaner swains, 
Partakes as he directs the reaper's toil, 
Or with his shining share divides the soil, 
Or in his hall, when winter nights are long, 
Joins in the burthen of the damsel's song, 
Repeats the tales of old heroic times, 
While Bruce andWALLACE consecrate the rhymes. 
These all are fled — and, in the farmer's place, 
Of prouder look, advance a dubious race, 
That ape the pride of rank with awkward state, 
The vice, but not the polish of the great, 
Flaunt, like the poppy mid the ripening grain, 
A nauseous weed, that poisons all the plain. 
The peasant, once a friend, a friend no more, 
Cringes, a slave, before the master's door : 
Or else, too proud where once he loVd to fawn* 
For distant climes deserts his native lawn, 



597 

And fondly hopes beyond the western main 
To find the virtues here belov'd in vain. 

So the red Indian, by Ontario's side, 
Nurs'd hardy on the brindled panther's hide, # 
Who, like the bear, delights his woods to roam, 
And on the maple finds at eve a home, 
As fades his swarthy race, with anguish sees 
The white man's cottage rise beneath his trees, 
While o'er his vast and undivided lawn 
The hedge-row and the bounding trench are drawn, f 
From their dark beds his aged forests torn, 
While round him close long fields of reed-like corn. 
He leaves the shelter of his native wood, 
He leaves the murmur of Ohio's flood, 

* The Indians of North America believe that every object in 
•ature communicates its peculiar properties to those bodies which 
come in contact with it. In order, therefore, to render their sons 
excellent warriors, they rear them on the hide of the panther, which, 
in strength, cunning, agility, and acuteness of smell, excels moit 
animals in the woods of America. In order to acquire the graces 
of modesty, their young females repose on the skins of the shy 
buffalo calf, or the timorous fawn. 

Adair's History of the American Indians, p. 420. 

f The Indians, whose maize-fields are never inclosed, are averse 

to the introduction of fenced corn-fields; and they have sometimes 

prohibited the rearing of domestic cattle, by which these inclosure* 

are rendered necessary. 

Adair's History of the American Indians, p. 131. 



398 



And forward rushing in indignant grief, 
Where never foot has trod the falling leaf, 
He bends his course, where twilight reigns sublime 
O'er forests silent since the birth of time ; 
Where roll on spiral folds, immense and dun *, 
The ancient snakes, the favourites of the sun, 
Or in the lonely vales serene repose ; 
While the clear carbuncle its lustre throws, 



* In the unfrequented swamps and savannahs of America, and 
the retired vallies of the mountains, snakes of enormous size hare 
frequently been found, which have been prodigiously magnified by 
Indian tradition. The Cherokees believe, that the recesses of their 
mountains, overgrown with lofty pines and cedars, and covered with 
old mossy rocks, from which the sun-beams reflect a powerful heat, 
are inhabited by the kings or chiefs of the rattle-snakes, which they 
denominate " the bright old inhabitants." They represent them as 
snakes of a more enormous size than is mentioned in history; and 
so unwieldy, that they require a circle almost as wide as their 
length to crawl round, in their shortest orbit. To compensate the 
tardiness of their motion, they possess the power of drawing to them 
every living creature that comes within the reach of their eye. 
Their heads are crowned with a large carbuncle which by its bright- 
ness sullies the meridian beams of the sun, and so dazzles the eye 
by its splendour, that the snake appears of as various hues as the 
cameleon. As the Indians believe, that by killing them they would 
be exposed to the hatred of all the inferior species of serpents, 
they carefully avoid disturbing them, or even discovering their 
secret recesses. 

Adair's History of the American Indians, p. 257* 



399 

From each broad brow, star of a baleful sky, 
Which luckless mortals only view to die ! 
Lords of the wilderness since time began, 
They scorn to yield their ancient sway to man. 

Long may the Creek, the Cherokee, retain 
The desert woodlands of his old domain, 
Ere Teviot's sons, far from their homes beguil'd, 
Expel their wattled wigwams from the wild ! 
For ah ! not yet the social virtues fly, 
That wont to blossom in our northern sky, 
And in the peasant's free-born soul produce 
The patriot glow of Wallace and of Bruce ; 
(Like that brave band, great Abercromby led 
To fame or death, by Nile's broad swampy bed, 
To whom the unconquer'd Gallic legions yield 
The trophied spoils of many a stormy field :) 
Not yet our swains, their former virtues lost, 
In dismal exile roam from coast to coast. 
But soon, too soon, if lordly wealth prevail, 
The healthy cottage shall desert the dale, 
The active peasants trust their hardy prime 
To other skies, and seek a kinder clime. 
From Teviot's banks I see them wind their way : 
" Tweedside" in sad farewell, I hear them play : 



400 



The plaintive song, that wont their toils to cheer, 

Sounds to them doubly sad, but doubly dear ; — 

As, slowly parting from the osier'd shore, 

They leave these waters to return no more. 

But, ah ! where'er their wandering steps sojourn, 

To these lov'd shores their pensive thoughts shall turn, 

There picture scenes of innocent repose, 

When garrulous, at waning age's close, 

They to their children shall securely tell 

The hazards which in foreign lands befell. 

Teviot ! while o'er thy sons I pour the tear *, 
Why swell thy murmurs sudden on my ear ? 
Still shall thy restless waters hold their way, 
Nor fear the fate that bids our race decay ! 
Still shall thy waves their mazy course pursue, 
Till every scene be chang'd that meets my view t 
And many a race has trae'd its narrow span, 
Since first thy waters down these vallies ran ! 
Ye distant ages, that have past away, 
Since dawn'd the twilight of creation's day ! 



* Lower Teviotdale, within these few 3 ears, has been transformed 
from a beautiful pastoral country into an agricultural one, and has 
consequently lost in picturesque appearance more than it has gained 
in beauty. 






401 

Again to Fancy's eye your course unroll, 
And let your visions soothe my pensive soul ! 

And lo ! emerging from the mist of years, 
In shadowy pomp a woodland scene appears \ 
Woods of dark oak, that once o'er Teviot hung, 
Ere on their swampy beds her mosses sprung. 
On these green banks the ravening wolf-dogs prowl , 
And fitful to the hoarse night-thunder howl, 
Or, hunger-gnawn, by maddening fury bold, 
Besiege the huts, and scale the wattled fold. 
The savage chief, with soul devoid of fear, 
Hies to the chace, and grasps his pliant spear, 
Or, while his nervous arm its vigour tries, 
The knotted thorn a massy club supplies.* 
He calls his hounds ; his moony shield afar 
With clanging boss convokes the sylvan war ; 
The tainted steps his piercing eyes pursue 
To some dark lair which sapless bones bestrew : 
His foamy chaps the haggard monster rears, 
Champs his gaunt jaws which clotted blood besmears, 
Growls surly, rolls his eyes that sparkle fire, 
While hounds and hunters from his fangs retire ; 
Till, writhing on the tough transfixing lance, 
With boisterous shouts the shrinking rout advance : 

D D 



402 

His shaggy fur the chieftain bears away, 
And wears the spoils on every festive day. 

Not his the puny chace, that from her lair 
Urges in safe pursuit the timorous hare, 
Detects her mazes as she circling wheels, 
And venturous treads on her pursuers' heels ; 
Through fields of grain the laggard harriers guides, 
Or, plunging through the brake, impetuous rides, 
Whoops the shrill view-halloo, to see her scud 
The plain, and drinks the tremulous scream of blood. 

Hark ! the dark forest rings with shrill alarms : 
Another foe invites the chieftains' arms. 
Where Teviot's damsels late in long array 
Led the light dance beneath the moonlight spray, 
Lords of the earth, the Roman legions wheel 
Their glittering files, and stamp with gory heel, 
Bathe the keen javelin's edge in purple dew; 
While Death smiles dimly o'er the faulchion blue. 
Wake the hoarse trumpet, swell the song of war, 
And yoke the steed to the careering car, 
With azure streaks the warrior's visage stain, 
And let the arrowy clouds obscure the plain ! 
The bards, as o'er their sky-blue vestures flow 
Their long redundant locks of reverend snow, 






403 

Invoke their ancestors of matchless might, 
To view their offspring in the toil of fight. 

" Let the wide field of slain be purpled o'er, 
" One red capacious drinking-cup of gore ! 
" Blest are the brave that for their country die ! 
" On viewless steeds they climb the waste of sky ; 
" Embrued in blood on eagle's wings they soar, 
" Drink as they rise the battle's mingled roar : 
" Their deeds the bards on sculptur'd rocks shall grave, 
" Whose marble page shall northern tempests brave. 
" E'en Time's slow wasting foot shall ne'er erase 
" The awful chronicle of elder days : 
" Then drink the pure metheglin of the bee, 
" The heath's brown juice, and live or perish free !" 

In vain ! — for, wedg'd beneath the arch of shields, 
Where'er the legions move, the combat yields ; 
Break the dark files, the thronging ranks give way, 
And o'er the field the vacant chariots stray. 
Woe to the tribes who shun the faulchion's stroke, 
And bend their necks beneath the captive's yoke ! 
The rattling folds of chains, that round them fall, 
They madly grind against the dungeon wall. 
Die ! cowards, die ! nor wait your servile doom, 
Dragg'd in base triumph through thfc streets of Rome ! 
d d 2 



10L 



The night descends : the sounding woods are still 
No more the watchfire blazes from the hill : — 
The females now their dusky locks unbind, 
To float dishevelFd in the midnight wind : 
Inspir'd with black despair they grasp the steel, 
Nor fear to act the rage their bosoms feel : 
Then maids and matrons dare a fearful deed, * 
And recreant lovers, sons, and husbands, bleed : 
They scan each long-lov'd face with ghastly smile, 
And light with bloody hands the funeral pile, 
Then, fierce retreat to woods and wilds afar, 
To nurse a race that never shrunk from war. 

Long ages, next, in sullen gloom go by, 
And desert still these barrier-regions lie ; 
While oft the Saxon raven, pois'd for flight,-}- 
Receding owns the British dragon's might : 



* Boeee relates, that the tribes of the Ordovices having, sustained 
a dreadful defeat, the women, enraged at the cowardice of their 
natural protectors, massacred all who had fled, the night after the 
battle. Tradition has preserved some obscure notices of this even 
in Teviotdale, and Liddisdale, the Gododin of the Welsh bards, and 
the country of the Ottadini. 

f Teviotdale, Liddisdale, and the mountainous districts of Dum- 
fries-shire, which seem to have formed the Welsh principalities of 
Reged and Gododin, were the scene of the most sanguinary warfare 
between the Welsh and Saxons. After Scotland and England were 



40.5 



Till, rising from the nuVd and martial breed, 

The nations see an iron race succeed. 

Fierce as the wolf, they rush'd to seize their prey ; 

The day was all their night, the night their day ; 

Or, if the night was dark, along the air 

The blazing village shed a sanguine glare. 

Theirs was the skill with venturous pace to lead 

Along the sedgy marsh the floundering steed, 

To fens and misty heaths conduct their prey, 

And lure the bloodhound from his scented way. 

The chilly radiance of the harvest-moon 

To them was fairer than the sun at noon ; 

For blood pursuing, or for blood pursued, 

The palac'd courtier's life with scorn they view'd, --> 

Pent, like the snail, within the circling shell ; 

While hunters lov'd beneath the oak to dwell, 

Rous'd the fleet roe, and twang'd their bows of yew, 

While staghounds yelFd, and merry bugles blew. 

Not theirs the maiden's song of war's alarms, 
But the loud clarion, aud the clang of arms, 

formed into two powerful kingdoms, these districts were compre- 
hended in the Middle March of Scotland ; and the hardy clans, by 
which they were inhabited, became versed in every kind of predatory 
warfare. The Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border exhibits an 
accurate view of their history and manners. 
D D 3 



406 



The trumpet's voice, when warring hosts begin 

To swell impatient battle's stormy din, 

The groans of wounded on the blood-red plain, 

And victor-shouts exulting o'er the slain. 

No wailing shriek, no useless female tear, 

Was ever shed around their battle-bier ; 

But heaps of corses on the slippery ground 

Were pil'd around them, for their funeral mound. 

So rose the stubborn race, unknown to bow ;• 
And Teviot's sons were, once, like Erin's now : — 

* After the union of the kingdoms, the free-booters of the Border 
were restrained with considerable difficulty from their ancient 
practices ; but, by the united authority of civil and military law, 
" the rush-bush was made to keep the cow." The inhabitants of 
the Border then became attached to the forms and doctrines of 
Presbyterianism, with as much enthusiasm as had formerly roused 
them to turbulence and rapine. This sudden change of manners is 
thus described by Cleland : 

" For instance, lately in the Borders, 

Where there was nought but theft and murders, 

Rapine, cheating, and resetting, 

Slight of hand fortunes-getting ; 

Their designation, as ye ken, 

Was all along ' the taking men* 

Now rebels prevail more with words, 

Than dragoons do with guns and swords ; 

So that their bare preaching now, 

Makes the thrush^msh keep the cow, 



407 

Erin, whose waves a favour'd region screen ! 
Green are her vallies, and her mountains green ; 
No mildews hoar the soft sea-breezes bring, 
Nor breath envenom'd blasts the flowers of spring, 
But rising gently o'er the wave she smiles; 
And travellers hail the emerald queen of isles. 



Better than Scots or English kings 
Could do by killing them with strings ; 
Yea, those who were the greatest rogues 
Follows them over hills and bogs, 
Crying for prayers and for preaching." 

Cleland's Poems, p. 30. 

In the reign of Charles II. and during the tyrannical administration 
of Lauderdale, a violent attempt was made to impose the forms of 
the English church on the Presbyterians of Scotland. The attempt 
was resisted, partial insurrections were excited, and various actions 
or rather skirmishes, took place, particularly at Pentland and Both- 
well Bridge, and the country was subjected to military law. Many 
sanguinary acts of violence occurred, and jflany unnecessary cruel- 
ties were inflicted, the memory of which will not soon pass away on 
the Borders. The names of the principal agents in these tyrannical 
and bloody proceedings, are still recollected with horror in the west 
and middle Marches; they are dignified with the names of " the 
Persecutors ;" and tradition, aggravating their crimes, has endowed 
them with magical power, and transformed them almost into 
demons. 

D D 4 



408 

Tall and robust, on Nature's ancient plan, 
Her mother-hand here frames her favourite man : 
His form, which Grecian artists might admire, 
She bids awake and glow with native fire ; 
For, not to outward form alone confin'd, 
Her gifts impartial settle on his mind. 
Hence springs the lightning of the speaking eye, 
The quick suggestion, and the keen reply, 
The powerful spell, that listening senates binds, 
The sparkling wit of fine elastic minds, 
The milder charms, which feeling hearts engage, 
That glow unrivall'd in her Goldsmith's page. 

But kindred vices, to these powers allied, 
With ranker growth their shaded lustre hide. 
As crops, from rank luxuriance of the soil, 
In richest fields defraud the farmer's toil, 
And when, from every grain the sower flings 
In earth's prolific womb, a thousand springs, 
The swelling spikes in matted clusters grow, 
And greener stalks shoot constant from below, 
Debar r'd the fostering sun ; till, crude and green, 
The milky ears mid spikes matur'd are seen : 
Thus, rankly shooting in the mental plain, 
The ripening powers no just proportion gain ; 



409 

The buoyant wit, the rapid glance of mind, 
By taste, by genuine science unrefin'd, 
For solid views the ill-pois'd soul unfit, 
And bulls and blunders substitute for wit. 
As, with swift touch, the Indian painter draws 
His ready pencil o'er the trembling gauze, 
While, as it glides, the forms in mimic strife 
Seem to contend which first shall start to life ; 
But careless haste presents each shapeless limb, 
Awkwardly clumsy, or absurdly slim : 
So rise the hotbed embryos of the brain, 
Formless and mix'd, a crude abortive train, 
Vigorous of growth, with no proportion grac'd. 
The seeds of genius immatur'd by taste. 

Such, sea-girt Erin, are thy sons confest ! 
And such, ere order lawless feud redrest, 
Were Teviot's sons ; who now, devoid of fear, 
Bind to the rush by night the theftless steer. 
Fled is the banner'd war, and hush'd the drum ; 
The shrill-ton'd trumpet's angry voice is dumb ; 
Invidious rust corrodes the bloody steel ; 
Dark and dismantled lies each ancient peel : 
Afar, at twilight gray, the peasants shun 
The dome accurst where deeds of blood were done, 



410 



No more the staghounds, and the huntsman's cheei> 
From their brown coverts rouse the startled deer : 
Their native turbulence resign'd, the swains 
Feed their gay flocks along these heaths and plains ; 
While, as the fiercer passions feel decay, 
Religion's milder mood assumes its sway. 

And lo, the peasant lifts his glistening eye, 
When the pale stars are sprinkled o'er the sky ! 
In those fair orbs, with friends departed long, 
Again he hopes to hymn the choral song ; 
While on his glowing cheek no more remains 
The trace of former woes, of former pains. 
As o'er his soul the vision rises bright, 
His features sparkle with celestial light ; 
To his tranc'd eye, the mighty concave bends 
Its azure arch to earth, and heaven descends. 

Cold are the selfish hearts, that would control 
The simple peasant's grateful glow of soul, 
When, raising with his hands his heart on high y 
The sacred tear-drops trembling in his eye, 
With firm untainted zeal, he swears to hold 
The reverend faith his fathers held of old. — 
Hold firm thy faith ! for, on the sacred day r 
No sabbath-bells invite thy steps to pray ; 



411 



But, as the peasants seek the churchyard's ground, 

Afar they hear the swelling bugle's sound, 

With shouts and trampling steeds approaching near, 

And oaths and curses murmuring in the rear. 

Quick they disperse, to moors and woodlands fly, 

And fens, that hid in misty vapours lie: 

But, though the pitying sun withdraws his light, 

The lapwing's clamorous whoop attends their flight, 

Pursues their steps, where'er the wanderers go, 

Till the shrill scream betrays them to the foe. 

Poor bird ! where'er the roaming swain intrudes 
On thy bleak heaths and desart solitudes, 
He curses still thy scream, thy clamorous tongue. 
And crushes with his foot thy moulting young : 
In stern vindictive mood, he still recalls 
The days, when, by the mountain water-falls, 
Beside the streams with ancient willows gray, 
Or narrow dells, where drifted snow-wreaths lay, 
And rocks that shone with fretted ice-work hung, 
The prayer was heard, and sabbath-psalms were sung. 

Of those dire days the child, untaught to spell, 
Still learns the tale he hears his father tell ; 
How from his sheltering hut the peasant fled, 
And in the marshes dug his cold damp bed ; 



412 

His rimy locks by blasts of winter tost, 
And stiffened garments rattling in the frost. 

In vain the feeble mother strove to warm 
The shivering child, close cradled on her arm ; 
The cold, that crept along each freezing vein, 
CongeaFd the milk the infant sought to drain. 

Still, as the fearful tale of blood goes round, 
From lips comprest is heard a muttering sound ; 
Flush the warm cheeks, the eyes are bright with dew, 
And curses fall on the unholy crew ; 
Spreads the enthusiast glow : — With solemn pause, 
An ancient sword the aged peasant draws, 
Displays its rusty edge, and weeps to tell, 
How he that bore it for religion fell, 
And bids his offspring consecrate the day, 
To dress the turf that wraps the martyr's clay. 

So, when by Erie's lake the Indians red* 
Display the dismal banquet of the dead, 

* The Indian Feast of Souls is one of those striking solemnities, 
which cannot fail to produce a powerful impression on minds sus- 
ceptible of enthusiasm. In the month of November, the different 
families which compose one of their tribes, assemble, and erect a 
long hut in a solitary part of the wilderness. Each family collects 



413 



While streams descend in foam, and tempests rave, 
They call their fathers from the funeral cave, 
In that green mount, where virgins go, to weep 
Around the lonely tree of tears and sleep. 
Silent they troop, a melancholy throng, 
And bring the ancient fleshless shapes along, 
The painted tomahawks, embrown'd with rust, 
And belts of wampum, from the sacred dust, 
The bow unbent, the tall unfurbish'd spear, 
Mysterious symbols ! from the grave they rear. 
With solemn dance and song the feast they place, 
To greet the mighty fathers of their race : 
Their robes of fur the warrior youths expand, 
And silent sit, the dead on either hand ; 



the skeletons of its ancestors, who have not yet been interred in 
the common tombs of the tribe. The skulls of the dead are painted 
with vermilion, and the skeletons are adorned with their military 
accoutrements. They choose a stormy day, and bring their bones 
to the hut in the desert. Games and funeral solemnities are cele- 
brated, and ancient treaties again ratified in the presence of their 
fathers. They sit down to the banquet, the living intermingled with 
the dead. The elders of the tribe relate their mythic fables, and 
their ancient traditions. They then dig a spacious grave, and, with 
funeral dirges, carry the bones of their fathers to the tomb. The 
remains of the respective families are separated by bear-skins and 
beaver-furs. A mound of earth is raised over the graves, on the top 
of which a tree is planted, which they term the Tree of Tears and 
Sleep* 



114 

Eye with lix'cl gaze the ghastly forms, that own 
No earthly name, and live in worlds unknown ; 
In each mysterious emblem round them trace 
The feuds and friendships of their ancient race ; 
With awful reverence from the dead imbibe 
The rites, the customs, sacred to the tribe, 
The spectre-forms in gloomy silence scan, 
And swear to finish what their sires began. 

By fancy rapt, where tombs are crusted gray*, 
I seem by moon-ill umin'd graves to stray, 
Where, mid the flat and nettle-skirted stones, 
My steps remove the yellow crumbling bones. 
The silver moon, at midnight cold and still, 
Looks sad and silent, o'er yon w r estern hill ; 
While large and pale the ghostly structures grow, 
Rear'd on the confines of the world below. 
Is that dull sound the hum of Teviot's stream ? 
Is that blue light the moon's, or tomb-fire's gleam, 
By which a mouldering pile is faintly seen, 
The old deserted church of Hazel-dean, 
Where slept my fathers in their natal clay, 
Till Teviot's waters roll'd their bones away ? 

. * A great part of the ancient churchyard of Hazeldean has been 
swept away by the river Teviot, so that no vestige remains of the 
burying-place of the author's ancestors. 



415 



Their feeble voices from the stream they raise — 

" Rash youth ! unmindful of thy early clays, 

" Why didst thou quit the peasant's simple lot ? 

" Why didst thou leave the peasant's turf-built cot, 

" The ancient graves, where all thy fathers lie, 

" And Teviot's stream, that long has murmur'd by? 

" And we — when death so long has clos'd our eyes,- 

" How wilt thou bid us from the dust arise, 

" And bear our mouldering bones across the main 

" From vales, that knew our lives devoid of stain ? 

" Rash youth, beware ! thy home-bred virtues save, 

" And sweetly sleep in thy paternal grave !" 



THE END. 



Printed by Strahan and Spottiswoode, 
Printers- Street, London. 



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